


Exchange

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dom/sub, Everyone Is Poly Because Avengers, Kink Negotiation, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Multi, Polyamory, Switching, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-02-07 07:08:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 36,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18615658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: “Well, he was an alpha-type before and during the war,” Clint points out. “So it’s not like Steve needs to get himdowndown, if the goal is returning him to pre-HYDRA levels. Just… out of the range where he’s going to be dealing with PTSDandheavy alpha withdrawal.”“And then what? Let him come back to neutral with time? Or are we supposed to find him a pet bunny to take care of? Cause let’s be real, I doubt you’re going to find anyone to willingly submit to the Winter Soldier.”“Dude,I’dsubmit willingly to the Winter Soldier,” Clint grins. “Have you seen those thighs?”**In a world where power exchange has specific physiological effects, and the dominant stereotype involves top notch nurturing skills, things get a little bit complicated for the Avengers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings note: I've gone really broad with tagging this, because to only use tags for certain types of relationships would be annoyingly spoilery to the plot. So everything here will come up in some form throughout the story, but the relationship styles and degrees vary.
> 
> Spoilers note: None of the recent MCU films will be spoiled in this series, and the timeline diverges post-Winter Soldier so there's no Civil War, Infinity War, or Endgame.
> 
> Content note: None of the archive warnings exactly apply, but there is mention of past use of forcing someone to exchange power (non-sexual) under brainwashing.

Tony never intended to  _ bond _ with Natasha. Sure as fuck no after the whole “Rushman” experience, though admittedly her playing at much more neutral than she is didn’t phase him nearly as much as the rest of the lies. Playing with people’s expectation of dynamic is pretty much his entire ballgame, when it comes to social interaction. And that freaks others out, once they catch onto it, so they have a weird sort of something in common with their mutual comfort around behaviors that most people find alien and unsettling. 

Personally, Tony would point out to anyone who cares to actually ask that he never  _ lies _ about his dynamic. He just doesn’t talk about it, ever, and if they want to deduce from his behaviors it’s not his problem. He can play the alpha when he wants, submissive at other times. Most people believe they can just  _ tell _ how much power someone’s holding at a given moment, but that’s not really true, not unless you get close or explicitly test them on it. And of course, people who  _ don’t _ do power exchange are seen as myths, mostly, and as unhealthy and isolated if they’re real. Fortunately, SHIELD is pretty much founded on unhealthy and isolated, so he’s in good company these days. 

Some of the girls and one of the guys Tony took power from back in the day have given salacious interviews, one of them a tell-all book. But the media tends to focus on his eccentric behavior and lack of any real nurturing characteristics and assume that if he  _ is _ an alpha-type, there’s something wrong with him. Natasha, on the other hand,  _ does _ have something wrong with her, something that’s been wrong for decades, but it’s clear to Tony that she’s settled whatever demons she has from the Red Room at least as much as she’s going to, and when anyone dares to comment on how she seems kind of…  _ cold _ , for an alpha, she just gives them her most cutting smile to feed the psychopathy rumors. He likes her style.

Rogers, on the other hand…

Seriously, that man needs to find someone to top, pronto, or Tony’s going to hire him a sex worker before the puppy eyes send the entire tower into a bout of depression. Cap never says anything about it, but the sadness lingers on him like a bad smell. After New York, the purpose that all that chaos gave him, the man seems to have realized again that he’s alone in a new century without a whole unit of men submissive to him, and worse still, it’s not wearing off. Bruce says it’s the serum—that the normal rate of recovery to baseline levels of power after a relationship with a releasing partner ends is significantly slowed in Steve’s case, and it doesn’t help that he’d started at such an intense level during the war. It might take years.

Tony teases him about it, sometimes, when he seems to be in a mentally stable mood, but in truth it’s pretty obvious that Cap’s exactly what you’d expect from a high-level alpha. He revels in providing for others, in generosity. He’s got a strong nurturing streak even with those he’s  _ not _ taking power from, and Tony can see why he had the capacity to take care of five, six submissive partners at a time. That kind of magnetic field around him would be enough to draw even the most dominant personalities—and in truth, that’s why Tony can’t stop fueling this weird love-hate friendship the two of them have established. It keeps Tony on his toes, safe from being drawn in by that same charisma that had fucked him over with Obadiah. The truth he’ll never tell the media is that while he doesn’t think he has the ability to care properly for a submissive partner after Afghanistan, he’s even less inclined to give his power to someone else after Obadiah Stane. Nothing good could possibly come of that.

~*~

_ Some time later… _

“Stark. Pancakes or bacon and eggs?”

Tony blinks a little blearily at the man standing by the common stove, and takes another large gulp from his mug. Sam Wilson is way too cheerful for nine in the morning.

“What is this ‘or’ of which you speak?” he manages, and Sam laughs and shakes his head. 

“Have a seat. Food’s up in a sec.”

“All right.” Tony refills his coffee from the big pot on the counter and then slides onto a barstool at the island next to Barton. “Any news from our Brooklyn wonder twins yet?”

“Steve says Barnes is doing better,” Natasha answers. “Not up for company yet, but less… that.” She waves a hand vaguely, and Tony makes a face. Two months after the Triskellion and the helicarriers, James Barnes had shown up at the Tower to turn himself in to Steve—and only to Steve. Now it’s been three days, and neither of them have emerged from Steve’s floor to report, but Tony’s not exactly surprised with the condition the Winter Soldier had been in. Beyond the mental programming, they’d uncovered some pretty fucked up files on the way HYDRA turned Bucky into the Super Alpha with the Super Creepy blank stare, not unlike what had been done to Natasha to leave her permanently alpha. 

But in contrast to Natasha’s experience, the Soldier had apparently been directed to take power from large groups of willing HYDRA recruits before missions, and then immediately after been slammed right back down to near-depleted levels, putting him in a completely pliant state for maintenance and the Chair. Tony doesn’t want to contemplate too heavily what that might do to a man over seventy years—or what would happen when said man escaped in the alpha state while still half-brainwashed and without any submissives to care for—but of course Steve is doggedly being Steve, and insisted on his ability to get his friend down to a safe level before locking them both into his rooms.

“What exactly are we going to do when he emerges? Have we figured that out yet?”

“Shit ton of therapy?” Sam suggests, putting a plate of pancakes on the island that Tony’s only a hair too slow to reach for before Barton gets the top of the stack. “Bet he needs time getting used to being a free man, more than anything.” 

“Assuming he is one,” Tony points out. “We are technically harboring a fugitive.” 

Natasha shrugs quite calmly. “Been there, done that.”

“True.” Tony has to concede the point. He frowns, drenching his pancakes in maple syrup. “What about his dynamic? Do you think Steve’s magic is going to be enough?”

“Well, he was an alpha-type before and during the war,” Clint points out. “So it’s not like Steve needs to get him  _ down _ down, if the goal is returning him to pre-HYDRA levels. Just… out of the range where he’s going to be dealing with PTSD  _ and _ heavy alpha withdrawal.”

“And then what? Let him come back to neutral with time? Or are we supposed to find him a pet bunny to take care of? Cause let’s be real, I doubt you’re going to find anyone to willingly submit to the Winter Soldier.” 

“Dude,  _ I’d _ submit willingly to the Winter Soldier,” Clint grins. “Have you seen those thighs?”

“I am not hearing this,” Natasha states blandly, stabbing her bacon like it’s a vital organ and her fork is a well-honed blade. 

“Barton, everyone knows you have a death wish.” 

Clint makes a dismissive sound. “Psh, that’s Steve.”

Tony can’t argue with that. Actually, it’s kind of refreshing to hear Clint make sex jokes, given how reticent he was on the topic for so long after Coulson. Also, Tony’s pretty sure Clint could handle himself, even in the midst of giving power to Barnes, at least if the latter isn’t heavily armed. Clint’s got the scrappy skills of a survivor, something Tony recognizes all too well. 

“Technically, do we know that he’s even going through withdrawal?” Sam suggests, bringing another round of eggs and bacon to the table and then taking a seat across the island from Tony with his own breakfast. “He didn’t form a bond with anyone he took power from, as far as we know, and given HYDRA’s experimental record, they might’ve found a way to block it.”

“Yeah, it’s called forcing him right back down to the very bottom of the scale every damn time he would’ve gone through withdrawal otherwise,” Tony sneers. “Doesn’t take a scientific genius.”

“Though getting him to give power would, right?” Sam points out. “You can’t take power from someone unwilling, that’s primary school stuff.”

“He was brainwashed,” Clint says flatly, something about his tone making them all fall silent. “You don’t have to be in  _ control _ of your mind to be willing enough to give power, it turns out.”

Natasha silently puts her hand on top of his, squeezes once, and they all awkwardly go back to their breakfast. Tony idly wonders what kind of research has been done on this, but even he has enough tact not to say it out loud.

~*~

The nice thing about Bruce Banner is, he doesn’t get all tied up in knots nearly as much as most people do about power exchange. Tony can run theories by him about how mind control might have affected Barnes’ ability to give power, and Bruce just offers counter-theories and volunteers to help with the research. Like Tony, Bruce doesn’t exchange power any more. He doesn’t think he  _ can _ , not safely, which is sad, because Tony imagines he had been a sweet submissive back in the day. But any hint of it has the doctor shutting down, and so despite the traumatic circumstances, Tony’s glad to have a partner in crime who doesn’t really stumble over the usual taboos.

“The thing about these studies is, they can’t really effectively control for willingness. None of the results are dramatic enough that they couldn’t be accounted for by some of the subjects just actually  _ being _ willing, when they were directed to resist.”

“And none of the researchers were fucked up enough to try mind control as a method,” Tony sighs. 

“Well, look at Maddox et. al., they did attempt hypnosis and disinhibitors.”

“Yeah, but we’re talking sustained, brutal mental deprogramming. There’s not going to be anything in the literature to compare.”

“Which is  _ good _ , Tony,” Bruce points out, a gentle rebuke. When Tony looks up, though, his lab partner is smiling. “If no one has been able to force someone to give their power, beyond the kind of torture HYDRA employed with Barnes or the mind control of an Asgardian god with a weapon powered by an unknown alien artefact, the general principle holds.” 

“No, I know, but it’s just so  _ nebulous _ . How do you even measure willingness?”

Bruce shrugs. “I don’t think you have to. That’s the whole point. I’ve had someone try to take power from me when I didn’t want it before,” he admits, his voice going quiet. “I was relieved it didn’t work.”

“You were afraid it might?” Tony frowns.

“I was afraid I might… subconsciously… I don’t know.” Bruce waves a hand vaguely. “Something.”

“You know people who make arguments like that are spouting bullshit, right?” Tony says gently, stepping over to Bruce’s station but not getting too close to his personal space. “If you want it, then you want it, and that’s okay. And if you don’t want it, you don’t want it, and that’s okay too. Your body isn’t going to let you give power if you’re afraid.” 

“Yeah.” Bruce pushes his glasses up on his nose. “Sorry. Don’t know why I’m so melancholy.”

“Eh. Winter is coming.” Tony grins. “Or already here. Confusing times…” As he walks back to his station, he thinks he can actually  _ feel _ Bruce’s eye roll at his back.

~*~

When Bucky finally  _ does _ come out of Steve’s rooms, a week after he arrived, he doesn’t look any less intimidating. But he doesn’t look like he’s about to attack any of them, either. Steve just smiles at him like he hung the goddamned sun and tugs him into the kitchen by the hand. 

“J.A.R.V.I.S. said you were making dinner, Sam.”

“I swear to God, Rogers. You’re like a bloodhound for my cooking,” Sam teases, but he’s grinning as he says it, tossing a huge pot of pasta in some sort of a cream sauce. “Two super-sized servings, coming right up.” 

Steve laughs and pulls a stool out for Bucky, first, then sits next to him. It’s usual alpha behavior, but at the same time Bucky doesn’t act obviously submissive towards him—no lowered head or leaning into Steve’s shoulder. There are no obvious signs that they’ve been fucking all week, even if everyone knows it. 

“Bucky, you’ve met Sam.” When, Tony doesn’t know, but possibly that explains how they’ve been eating sufficiently while holed away in there, despite Steve’s tendency to keep his kitchen relatively bare and rely instead on the common supplies. “This is Tony Stark.”

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Tony greets with an awkward little wave. Bucky just offers a short nod in return, and Steve moves on.

“Doctor Bruce Banner… he’s a scientist, not that kind of doctor,” Steve quickly explains when Bucky tenses up a bit. “He works with Tony on research for the team. And Natasha Romanoff.”

“We’ve met,” Natasha says, without any further explanation, and then says a few quiet words in Russian. Bucky doesn’t respond, but he does let his eyes linger on her for a moment before Sam starts dishing out bowls of pasta to go with a basket of warm garlic bread already on the table. 

“Where’s Barton?” Sam asks.

“Don’t look at me,” Natasha answers when several of the Avengers do just that, but she’s smiling. “He’ll show up if he smells the garlic.”

“Clint Barton, the anti-vampire,” Tony quips.

“Naw, he does that for food, period. Man of indiscriminate tastes,” Sam jokes, squeezing in between Bruce and Natasha at the island. 

“Something’s gotta sustain those arms,” Tony points out, twirling pasta onto a fork. “Oh man. I spy bacon.” 

“It’s carbonara.” 

“Bacon  _ and _ butter.”

“And cheese!” Clint exclaims gleefully, appearing out of nowhere. Sam rolls his eyes and scoots over to make room, while Steve makes the introductions.

“Bucky, this is Clint Barton. Our archer. Clint, Bucky Barnes.” 

“Sup?” Clint greets the other man, only sparing him a brief glance before concentrating solely on transferring the pasta to his bowl. He has the least obvious reaction to Barnes of the group of them, but Barnes’ eyes also linger on him the longest. Interesting.

“ _ Svinyaka _ ,” Natsha chides, smacking at Clint’s wrist, and he just grins at her and twirls a mouthful of pasta onto his fork. 

“Sam went to the trouble, I’m paying him a compliment.”

“By that logic, are you going to start living in three different apartments in the Tower to compliment Tony?”

“Nah. Stark’s ego’s inflated enough as it is.”

“Gee, thanks,” Tony drolls, but he’s not offended. His ego  _ is _ quite healthy, and he’s fine with that. “Are we doing a movie tonight?”

“Sure,” Steve agrees easily. “J.A.R.V.I.S., what’s next on my list?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s okay if you’re not interested,” Steve quickly interjects.
> 
> “Man, I know that’s okay. I’m not gonna top anyone I don’t wanna.” Sam gives Steve that smile that says _Rogers, you got shit for brains, but it’s a good thing I like you anyway._ Steve’s return smile is sheepish and he nudges Sam with his knee. They’re sitting on Sam’s sofa, side-by-side but canting at angles towards each other. Even with all the time he’s been spending with Bucky lately, Steve can’t help but miss Sam sitting easy on the floor for him, in between Steve’s thighs. _Not the time, pal._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone who commented on the first chapter! You made my week. Now we tune in to Steve's POV to find out what's actually going on with Bucky's recovery and earn the story rating.

After nine straight days, Steve can admit, at least to himself, that he’s  _ tired. _ Not physically, so much, the serum takes care of that, but constantly pushing Bucky down, even for someone like him—it’s a lot. And as much as he tries not to show it, Bucky’s not an idiot. Steve knows his best friend can see the weariness in his eyes, those moments of longing for the days when it was just  _ easy.  _

Though it was never really easy like that, was it? Maybe nostalgia has put a haze over his memories, but he hasn’t forgotten how much mischief Bucky used to get up to, how he used to have to wrestle the other man down, especially after the serum. The war wasn’t the first time he’d topped Bucky, but it was the first time he’d done it  _ openly _ , the first time he’d been able to control Bucky with his body and not just his words. Probably no one would ever believe that shrimpy little Steve Rogers actually  _ seduced _ James Barnes into his bed back in 1936, but he’d always had a strong desire for taking power, even when his caretaking instincts were quelled half the time by the needs of his weak lungs or arrhythmic heart. And it got easier out there on the front lines, Bucky cocky and comfortable with a good handful of men of the 107th under his power and willing enough to submit to Steve’s when the chance once again arose. 

Now, although the haunted look isn’t quite what it was the first night, Bucky’s still on edge, hyper-aware, “Super Alpha” instincts tweaked too much to really calm down. He may not be dropping, exactly, but Steve’s not sure—it’s not like there’s research on what an alpha withdrawal would look like in these circumstances, with Bucky’s routines over the past seventy years. He’s grateful that Bucky’s not desperately running off to try to care for whatever HYDRA lackies they made him top to get in this state, but he also doesn’t know how to adequately care for the man, and that fact has the risk of his own drop ticking up steadily by the day. Bucky will accept food and water, but Steve can’t hold him, not the way he wants to, or have Bucky calm at his feet. The growl he got the first time it was suggested was clear enough. 

The door to the suite opens with a mechanical whoosh, and Steve looks up with a well-earned smile for Sam, who’s pushing in a couple of super-sized hot meals on a cart, snacks loaded up underneath. Just the sight of the man is enough to calm Steve’s instincts a bit, and he happily stands from the sofa to help Sam unload huge bowls of ramen and plates of sushi onto the kitchen table. “You’re a saint. Though I’m telling you, we’d be fine with just a grocery order…”

“Bullshit,” Sam counters him with an easy smile, transferring the snacks into the cabinets. “I know how you are with your people, man, but your cooking kinda sucks. Your boy’s been a POW for how long? Let him eat something decent for a week or two at least before you subject him to eggs à la Rogers.”

Steve staggers back a few steps, dramatically clutching his chest. “Wounded. Wounded, is what I am. Shot through the heart.”

“Yeah, yeah. Don’t get used to it, anyway. How’s he doing?”

Steve shrugs, not totally sure Bucky can’t hear them over the drone of the shower. “I was gonna suggest another team dinner tonight.”

“Think he’ll be up to speaking a word or two this time?” Sam asks, his teasing friendly enough that Steve doesn’t jump to defend his partner. 

“Maybe. He doesn’t talk much with me, either,” Steve admits. “But I can’t tell if that’s dynamic-related or just… you know. Trauma.” 

Sam nods and claps Steve gently on the back. “Could be a little of column A, little of column B. And you know you don’t have to be the only one he talks to.”

“I know. But he’s not close enough to baseline to even suggest that, yet. I don’t want him to snap my face off. Or run away.”

“All right.” Sam frowns. “You know, if you need anything…”

“I know. You’re my first call, I promise.”

“I’d better be.” Sam smiles as the shower cuts off and grabs the now empty cart, tugging it backwards towards the door. “See you tonight, hopefully.” Steve nods and gives him a little salute before he wanders back towards the bathroom.

“Hey. Sam brought lunch,” he announces, tugging the door open just enough that he’s greeted with a wall of steam from inside, but not slipping in after it. He’s trying to give Bucky boundaries enough that he feels safe in the Tower, if not so many that he doesn’t feel wanted. It’s a tricky line, especially when he’s not even sure how  _ wanted _ Bucky wants to feel, outside of the somewhat violent sex they’ve been regularly having. 

“I know.” Bucky’s tone is soft, but enough to carry with super-soldier hearing. He’s standing at the mirror, combing his hair with a towel wrapped around his waist. “What did he mean about tonight?” 

“Dinner. Did you want to try again with the team?”

Bucky shrugs. “I guess. If you want to.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.”

“All right. You should warn Stark.”

Steve frowns. “Why Stark?”   


“I make him twitchy.”

“Really? I didn’t notice.” 

“I did.” Bucky doesn’t elaborate, just emerges from the bathroom with his damp hair combed straight and walks past Steve, into the bedroom to dress. 

“Stark’s… complicated. I haven’t quite figured him out, to be honest. It might be a dynamic thing, but the media says he’s more of an alpha-type.”

Bucky snorts a little, tugging a black t-shirt over his head, and Steve smiles behind his back at even the whisper of expression from his best friend. “I didn’t say he has a  _ crush _ on me. He’s probably just afraid. Smart.”

“You don’t want to hurt him.”

“No. But I’m dangerous,” Bucky says as he tugs unfairly tight jeans up over his hips. “And unpredictable. So—smart.” He turns back to Steve and fixes him with a stubborn glare, and Steve sighs and relents, for now. 

“Maybe. But I won’t let you hurt anyone,” Steve promises, as he has many times since Bucky’s arrival, following him to the table. The broth is the perfect temperature, the noodles sublime, though Steve struggles with the chopsticks, and Bucky looks like he’s making some effort not to laugh. They get through half their bowls silently, each loaded with three marinated eggs and plenty of pork along with the noodles and vegetables. Then Bucky lifts his head and pins Steve with an unexpectedly sharp look.

“I’m wearing you out.”

“What?” Steve frowns. “Are you saying I can’t handle you?” 

“No,” Bucky replies, matter-of-fact and a little annoyed. “You can handle way more than just me, if my memories are coming back right.” He waves a hand impatiently. “I mean  _ all _ of this. What I am now. You shouldn’t have to be responsible for taking me down like this.”

Steve frowns. “I  _ like _ taking you down. Do… I mean… don’t you still like it too?”

“That’s not what I meant either,” Bucky sighs. “It’s hard, like this. It’s… I’m used to force. You can give me some of that. I’m not used to someone who  _ cares _ like you do. But I didn’t say I don’t like it.”

“Okay....”

“I want more,” Bucky admits, his free (metal) hand clenching into a fist but his tone surprisingly even, if quiet. “I want to take. I need that control. I remember how it was, and I don’t feel like I’ll ever be myself again without it. But… we can’t risk letting me go that high. It’s not safe.” 

Steve bites his lip. He should’ve guessed this, honestly. Back in the day, when Bucky made time with someone he was the one taking power maybe 80% of the time. Almost always with Steve, when it was the other way round, and though he’s warned Steve that he won’t ever be the Bucky Barnes of 1937, or even 1943, it doesn’t surprise Steve that he’s feeling off-balance trying to recover bits of himself while he’s doing nothing but giving Steve his power, even alpha as he is right now. He has the physical benefits that come with holding power, but none of the actual experience of topping someone regularly, none of the emotional benefits that come from having someone who’s consented to be  _ yours _ for a while. It’s unsurprising that those experiences would be part of what Bucky needs to reclaim his humanity, even if the desire to top  _ isn’t _ coming from some delayed form of withdrawal at not having anyone to care for right now. 

“What about… maybe with someone enhanced?” Steve suggests. “Hell,  _ I’d _ …”

“No,” Bucky cuts him off. “That doesn’t solve the problem. It’d just reverse what you’re trying to do here,” he points out, waving his hand broadly to encompass the apartment. He twirls some noodles around his chopsticks, expression thoughtful. “What about Wilson?”

Steve stares openly, nearly choking on his broth. “You want to top  _ Sam _ ?”

Bucky’s lips curl up a bit, what would be a full-on laugh on anyone else. “No. I mean what if Sam  _ helped _ you?” At Steve’s blank look, he elaborates, “Helped you get me down enough that I could take someone’s power without jeopardizing my progress. Even you can’t siphon off as much power from a single man as two people could.”

“ _ Oh _ .” Steve can’t really stop staring.

“I think I could trust him,” Bucky says softly, and takes another bite of his noodles.

“That’s…. good, Buck. That’s real good.”

“You look tired,” Bucky says with a shrug, as if that explains things, and maybe it does. Bucky’s power itself is potent, enough to get Steve drunk on it, the edges of it sharpening even Steve’s enhanced abilities. But taking power like this, with all the trauma Bucky’s swimming in,  _ knowing _ what HYDRA did to him ( _ over and over and over _ ) and without the solace of the same kinds of quiet moments they used to share, is still a lot. He’d do it a hundred times over alone if he had to, but maybe he doesn’t. Maybe for once it doesn’t  _ have _ to be the hard way. Still...

“You sure you wouldn’t prefer someone you have actual history with?” Steve wonders aloud. “Natasha might…”

“No.” Bucky’s tone is sharp, all Soldier, leaving no room for debate. Steve doesn’t know exactly  _ what _ history the two of them have, so he doesn’t press.

“All right. Sam, then. I’ll talk to him. If that’s all right?”

Bucky nods, and falls silent as he finishes his soup.

~*~

Sam whistles low, shakes his head at Steve. “You weren’t kidding.”

“It’s okay if you’re not interested,” Steve quickly interjects.

“Man, I know that’s okay. I’m not gonna top anyone I don’t wanna.” Sam gives Steve that smile that says  _ Rogers, you got shit for brains, but it’s a good thing I like you anyway.  _ Steve’s return smile is sheepish and he nudges Sam with his knee. They’re sitting on Sam’s sofa, side-by-side but canting at angles towards each other. Even with all the time he’s been spending with Bucky lately, Steve can’t help but miss Sam sitting easy on the floor for him, in between Steve’s thighs.  _ Not the time, pal. _

“Do you? Want to, I mean?”

Sam considers the question, not answering right away. It’s one thing Steve likes about him—he never just runs off at the mouth like Tony, processing out loud. This century’s loud enough without the Tony Starks of the world, in Steve’s opinion.

“I might,” Sam decides after a minute of consideration. “I need more information, though. Have you two talked about how it would go?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. He’d want me to get him down first, so he’s fairly relaxed. You could be in the living room or something, like… on standby. But he needs it to be pretty rough to start. I don’t want to put you at risk.”

“Thanks for that.”

Steve smirks. “I like your pretty face the way it is, Wilson.”

“Yeah you do.” Sam grins. “What about what  _ he _ likes, then? Is he looking for anything in particular?”

Steve shrugs. “I think just reinforcement. If he can exchange with you a few times, then it’ll get him where he needs to be, off this edge. But… it’s hard to say exactly what he likes,” Steve admits, frowning. “There are minefields.  _ He _ doesn’t know where all of them are. I can keep you safe, physically, if we hit one, but… I don’t want to lie and promise that you won’t. He likes a lot of touch when he’s down, he likes being certain of where he stands, no mind games. Sex is good to ground a connection for him. But you should know that there’s some risk involved.”

“Yeah,” Sam says softly, serious. “I figured. You trust that you can tell when something’s wrong enough that we need to stop? If he can’t call it?”

Steve nods. “I can still read him. He’s not… the same, exactly, but I can still tell. It’s just… like everything’s shifted a little to the left, or something.”

“Man, don’t set yourself up for communism jokes. I’m not that strong.” 

That startles a laugh out of Steve, and he shoves at Sam’s shoulder, lightly enough, pleased when Sam sinks against his body on the rebound. He’ll need to get back to Bucky soon, but he’s never been one to say no to a cuddle.

~*~

“Well that’s a pretty picture,” Sam drawls, stepping into the bedroom just a moment after Steve’s relayed the go-ahead via J.A.R.V.I.S. Steve wonders what he’s thinking, having undoubtedly heard what it took to get Bucky to this place, the violence, the rough fucking that put yet another dent in the wall… but now Bucky’s still, relatively calm, skin shining with a thin layer of sweat as Steve holds his arms locked behind him, propped up against the headboard, legs stretched out in front of his body. The rise and fall of his chest is even, and there’s no obvious distress in his eyes as he watches Sam enter the room. “Steve fix you up good?”

There’s a little curl to Sam’s mouth at the rhetorical question, but his expression is otherwise sharp, intense as it focuses on Bucky’s body. Steve’s never seen Sam this way, and he finds it kind of fascinating as his friend perches on the edge of the bed, smoothing a firm hand over Bucky’s chest. “If you need anything, you can ask me,” Sam declares, conversationally. Steve doesn’t know that Bucky  _ will _ ask, but his expression doesn’t change, slightly glassy eyes still fixed on Sam, observing. Sam’s fingers find a nipple, give it a firm pinch, and Bucky’s breathing falters just for an inhale. Sam smiles. 

“Pretty.” He rolls the skin between his fingers a bit, eyes fixed on Bucky’s, and Steve can feel the tension palpably in the air between the three of them. Bucky doesn’t react much, visibly, but Sam doesn’t seem bothered. He strokes Bucky’s chest a bit, aimless, brushing over his collarbones but avoiding his throat, and then grabs the other nipple in a harder pinch. That earns Sam a hum of sound that Bucky wouldn’t have let loose earlier in the evening, but now that Steve’s got him in a more vulnerable place, he’s less bothered about his vocalizations. Steve loves that place, and finds that he has no compunctions about letting Sam in on it.

“Steve fuck you?” Sam asks, tone still casual, loud in the quiet of the bedroom. Bucky nods almost imperceptibly. “How many times?”

“Twice,” Bucky murmurs, and Sam’s grin is like a shark’s. 

“Good boy.” His hand traces up, skating the side of Bucky’s neck, his jaw, and his thumb rubs over Bucky’s bottom lip. “I’m quite fond of that man’s dick, myself.” 

Bucky makes another sound, half-snort, almost a  _ giggle _ , and something loosens all at once in Steve’s chest. Bucky kitten-licks at Sam’s thumb, and Sam allows it, then shifts so that Bucky’s tongue is on his palm instead and his thumb can caress Bucky’s cheek.

“There ya go. Nice and easy.” Bucky’s eyes flutter shut, only for a few moments, but it’s enough for Steve to feel incredibly  _ proud  _ all of a sudden. What Bucky’s doing is monumental, and Steve hasn’t really had enough time to just be in awe of him. With Sam taking the lead for a bit, he has the luxury to observe, without being hyper-focused on what he’s doing and how Bucky might react. It’s not his job, for example, to worry about whether Bucky’s soft inhale when Sam’s slick palm shifts to fist his dick means “more” or signals nerves. He can just appreciate the way Bucky’s body goes lax and tense in cycles as Sam slowly works his grip up and down Bucky’s shaft, soft smile fixed on Bucky’s face. It strikes Steve, too, that Sam’s not fundamentally different in this place than he is when Steve’s taking from him. A little firmer, maybe, obviously more in control of the details, but his smile doesn’t change appreciably. He’s just as relaxed.

“That’s it. Okay to move if you like,” Sam comments, his voice soft, when Bucky’s hips twitch the slightest bit. “You’re not gonna stop what I’m doing to you,” he continues, eyes sharp on Bucky’s, “but you don’t gotta be still.” 

As Steve watches, Bucky holds Sam’s gaze, a bit of cautious awareness creeping around the corners of his glazed-out look, but he doesn’t protest. As Sam continues to stroke, he rolls his hips, languidly this time, testing. Sam smiles and reaches down with the other hand, pressing or maybe rolling Bucky’s balls, Steve can’t see but he appreciates the little groan Bucky lets loose, the way his arms shift a bit in Steve’s hold. Bucky’s body goes loose again after that, his gaze softening again. As Sam continues to work him, his eyes keep fluttering shut, a few seconds at a time, and Steve gives into the powerful urge to kiss his hair. 

When Bucky goes tense again, it’s clearly not out of caution but rather frustration, as his body’s showing all the signs of being close to orgasm and Sam’s slowing his stroke all the way to a stop, grinning wickedly at Bucky as he shifts back on the bed and bends down to bite at an inner thigh. 

“Damnit,” Bucky murmurs under his breath, and Steve grins to himself, nuzzling a little at Bucky’s neck. Sam’s obviously in no hurry, mouthing at Bucky’s skin in a lazy pattern for several minutes until Bucky’s body goes lax again, and he gets back to slowly jerking him off. 

“Good boy,” Sam murmurs, his thumb swiping over the slick head of Bucky’s cock. Bucky shudders a bit, exhales through his open mouth. “Nothing you need to do right now.” This time, Bucky doesn’t roll his hips up, but he makes little intermittent sounds that have Steve hardening up again underneath him. Sam smiles, takes the auditory feedback, and clearly adjusts his technique deliberately to bring more of those sounds free. Another low groan signals another pause from Sam after a minute, and Sam ignores the complaint, one hand holding tightly at the base of Bucky’s shaft, the other petting over his chest, down his ribs to make him shiver. Sam’s patient, that’s something Steve’s always admired about him—not one of his own traits—and he uses it here to great effect. By the fourth round of this, slowing and stopping and ramping back up again once Bucky’s calm, Bucky’s in full blissed-out subspace, breathing evenly, looking at Sam like he holds all the answers to the universe and in a state of obvious surrender. Steve wishes he could feel it himself, the crackling energy of power being exchanged between them, wondering if it feels more like the clear bright shock of taking from Bucky or like the molten flow of power that comes from Sam. Maybe later he can ask.

“Do you remember what I said at the beginning?” Sam asks as he starts to stroke again, his hand now slick with lube from the nightstand to ease the way. “I only have one rule, beautiful.”

Bucky blinks, not saying anything for a long moment. That alone is enough to show Steve how deep he is at the moment. Bucky remembers everything, that was true even before the war, and though there are gaps in his long-term memory, his time with HYDRA hasn’t changed the fact that he never forgets facts in the short term, his mind constantly observing and categorizing his environment for later use. When he does answer, it’s in a smooth drawl, almost a slur. 

“Please. Please let me come.” 

Sam’s grin could light up a black hole, at that moment, and Steve feels it like a deep fulfilling ache in his chest. “That’s the golden ticket,” Sam murmurs in praise, and his stroke gets more directed now, faster and far less teasing. “Such a good boy. I want you to come for me, good boy,” he continues, and now he’s up on his knees, braced with one hand on the mattress, leaning over Bucky’s body. Bucky gasps and opens his mouth, tries to crane his neck up, and Sam gives him the kiss he’s craving just as he crests over the edge of his orgasm. Steve has a terrible angle to watch them kiss, but he can feel the delicious twitch and surge in Bucky’s muscles, not actively fighting Steve’s hold but straining unconsciously against it as his hips buck up in counterpoint. And he can drop a kiss to Bucky’s sweaty shoulder, to his neck. Their combined weight as Sam lets up and drapes over Bucky, still languidly kissing him, is the best kind of comfort. For the first time, Steve feels  _ certain  _ that this is going to turn out okay. It’s an immeasurable relief.

~*~  

“You good?” Sam asks, after they’ve all had some cuddle time and turns in the shower and he’s back to being dressed and ready to leave them. Steve had suggested that he spend the night, but Sam waved him off before Bucky could even say anything. Now they’re all standing near the door, Sam’s hand on Bucky’s bicep, chests nearly touching.  

“Yeah,” Bucky smiles. “Real good. You… want to do that again, the invitation’s open.”

“Sweet,” Sam grins. “I would absolutely like to do that again. And I’m open to any feedback you have for me.”

Bucky laughs, shaking his head. “I mean… I’ll still need Steve to put me down first. That’s not exactly how you  _ get _ a guy down, but it was good.” 

Sam’s smile only brightens, and he gives Bucky’s arm a friendly squeeze before he lets his hand drop. “It is how you get some guys down. It’s how you get  _ me _ down,” he adds with a little knowing look, indescribably hot for just a glance, at Steve. “But I get you, man. I’m good with this arrangement.”

“Okay.” Bucky smiles. “Good. See you at dinner tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Sam agrees. And with a quick squeeze of Bucky’s hand, followed by a far-too-brief kiss on the mouth for Steve, he’s gone.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay.” Bruce gives Tony’s hand a squeeze, feeling a little pulse of warmth in his chest from the admission, even if he privately thinks Tony could stand to trust himself a bit more. “Then what if nothing has to change? What if we’re just… okay with it, if it’s going to happen sometimes?”
> 
> “I could be okay with it,” Tony agrees, smiling a little. “You are my favorite science bro.”
> 
> “I’m your only science bro."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a sucker for Bruce and Tony sharing intimacy in unusual ways.

Bruce’s current project is slow-going work, incredibly precise, requiring endless repetition and subtle calibration and re-measuring results. It’s the kind of work that’s good for him, even if it’s not quite as exciting as the breakthrough stage of an experiment. It keeps him steady, even-keeled, and he’s good at it. Besides, sharing a lab with Tony gives him all the excitement he needs.

“Confirmed, Bucky and Sam are  _ definitely _ fucking. Maybe all three of them are fucking?” Bruce doesn’t look up as Tony sweeps into the lab, all of his focus on the liquid he’s carefully pipetting. Tony doesn’t really need an answer, anyway. He has a pattern, waiting a moment to see if Bruce will respond, and then answering his own question as he plants his butt on a stool and rolls up to a holographic display. “Barnes doesn’t seem catastrophically alpha, though, like 98% chance of no imminent murder sprees to protect home and hearth. Which means either Sam’s topping or Steve is and Barnes isn’t—what’s the over/under, do you think?” 

“I honestly wouldn’t know.” Bruce looks up and gives Tony a gentle smile that the other man doesn’t see, before reaching over to swap out a fresh pair of gloves. “I haven’t given it any thought.”

“Ugh, I have.” Tony admits. “I wish I could shut my brain  _ off _ around Scary-McFreeze-a-Lot, thinking about his sex life gives me the creeps.”

“So… don’t?”

“Here’s the thing, though. They were this epic couple, right? Went to war together, survived the Depression, blah-blah-blah… and Steve used to be tiny, so. Maybe Barnes used to take power from him, and maybe now that Steve’s all jacked…”

“That’s a lazy argument,” Bruce can’t help but point out. “You know power exchange has nothing to do with size.”

“Sure,  _ now _ , but they had fucked up ideas back then about what a good provider looked like. I’m just saying, maybe they feel more comfortable if there’s a correlation. I mean, do you think the Terminator would actually let  _ Wilson _ top?”

Bruce finishes what he’s doing, methodically as always, and by the time he looks up from his workbench, Tony’s giving him eye contact. He raises his brows deliberately. “Are you suggesting Barnes is racist in his sexual preferences?”

Tony frowns, and then appears to think about it for a moment. “Well, maybe. He  _ is _ ancient. But no, that’s not what I meant. Just… he doesn’t know Sam that well, does he? And he did technically try to kill Sam when he was Soldier-y. Most people don’t think it’s a good idea to bottom to someone  _ after _ you’ve tried to kill them.”

“You obviously don’t read your own press.” 

“Aw, c’mon. She was only trying to kill me, like, a little. Anyway, we’re talking about  _ Barnes _ letting himself be vulnerable to a virtual stranger. And for that matter, Wilson would have to get the idea in the first place, and you know that look in his eye Barnes gets like he’s going to stab you if you keep your eyes off of him for too long.”

“He doesn’t, actually. I think that’s mostly your imagination.” Bruce’s tone is fond as he tosses his gloves and heads over to the counter where the electric kettle and Tony’s coffee maker both live. 

“The man had at least six knives on him  _ at movie night. _ I counted.”

“Should I worry about where you learned how to spot concealed knives on people?” Bruce wonders mildly as he measures out the tea leaves and pours hot water over the strainer. 

“I’m just saying. It’s hard to imagine Wilson just  _ offering _ .”

“Maybe he didn’t offer.” Bruce frowns, then, tugging the coffee pot out of the machine and walking over to Tony’s station to freshen up his lab partner’s mug. “Why am I indulging your ridiculous thought experiment again?”

Tony, predictably, beams and reaches out to ruffle Bruce’s hair. “Because you love me, Big Green,” he insists, and Bruce tries not to blush too hard, blocking out the familiar warm feeling that melts down his spine at the touch. 

“If you say so,” he mutters, and as soon as the mug is full, escapes back to the solid refuge of science.

~*~

Both Bruce and Tony ultimately have to be roused from their work by multiple J.A.R.V.I.S. reminders and finally an in-person visit from Natasha, who threatens to drag them up to team dinner by their ears. Tony makes a quip about how Bruce might like that too much, and Bruce ignores him perfunctorily. He stands between them in the elevator, checking his physiological signs by rote as they ascend towards the common floor. Heart rate, respiration, mental state, all clear for social time. Still, he exits the car last, allowing Tony’s personality to proceed them into the open-plan kitchen. Bruce hangs back a little, observing, as is his habit, and Natasha does the same, in her own way, slipping into an unobtrusive spot against the lesser-used cabinets.

It’s Sam’s turn to be in charge of cooking (only he and Bruce are actually allowed on that rotation, though Tony orders a generous takeout when given an excuse), and Clint appears to be on sous chef duties, which at the moment consist of tossing a salad in a ginormous bowl while Sam and Steve ferry large trays of lasagne and baskets of garlic bread to the table. When Bruce had first moved into the Tower, he’d questioned the three separate full ovens in the common kitchen area, but now it kind of makes sense, especially when Thor’s in town. He’s not, today, but Bucky is at the table, and between him, Steve, and Clint, they can go through a respectable amount of lasagne. Sam catches Bruce’s eye and points to the vegetarian pan, which in turn gives Bruce an idea of where to sit. Tony ends up on his left, Natasha at the head of the table to his right, and Bucky opposite him, with Steve opposite Tony. Clint and Sam round out the table once they’re done putting food on it, and things are quiet for a moment as everyone serves themselves. 

Across the table, Bruce notices that the lines of Bucky’s face are a little softer than they were even a week or two ago, that he smiles occasionally when Natasha and Tony get into a conversation about a new GPS technology she’s interested in. Even as conversation shifts to more relatable topics, he’s as quiet as Bruce, but he doesn’t seem bothered by anything. He observes the rest of the team, but it’s casual, unlike the hawkish stare of his first weeks in the tower. Bruce doesn’t really know or care who’s doing what to whom among the Avengers, he’s just happy to sense that Bucky is returning energetically to a baseline of some kind, rather than his dynamic being stuck like Natasha’s. 

It’s not that Nat ever complains, but still, Barnes has enough to worry about from the other effects of HYDRA’s particular brand of TLC without also having a permanent dynamic shift on the table. His return to a calmer state also makes the Other Guy rumble contentedly in the back of Bruce’s mind, not that Bruce would tell anyone on the team about how weirdly protective his alter ego was of Bucky upon arrival. He doesn’t himself understand it, beyond the possibility that maybe the Other Guy can sense when someone else is out of control against their will and has a kind of empathy about it. There’s also the fact that no one  _ else  _ seems to be damaged by exchanging power with Bucky, which is fortunate. Bruce has seen Steve play the martyr enough times, thank you, and doesn’t doubt he’d be the first in line when it comes to his best friend.

“...can’t tell me you don’t have any good honeypot stories. You were a  _ Russian spy _ , Romanoff, give a little,” Tony’s gleefully insisting when Bruce tunes back into the conversation. He smiles fondly to himself and tries not to actually roll his eyes as he takes another bite of lasagne.

“I don’t fuck for state secrets and tell,” Natasha says sweetly. “Also, it’s not really my style. You should ask Clint.”

“ _ What _ ?” Tony grins. “ _ You’ve _ been the honeypot?”   
  
“Twice,” Clint admits, seemingly unbothered by the confession. “Heiress with ties to cocaine smuggling, and a guy looking for alien artifacts with a taste for pretty boys.”

“You are not that pretty,” Tony responds with disbelief in his tone, though Bruce has absolutely seen Tony ogling Clint’s biceps on more than one occasion. 

“I was once,” Clint replies haughtily, not missing a beat with a prim snort. 

“They should send in Steve sometime,” Tony suggests. “To a criminal who’s deeply attracted to blushing.”

“I’m not that innocent, Stark,” Steve complains, and Bucky just smirks at Tony. 

“And if you fell for that act, you should know he’s been pulling it since about 1934.” Tony reaches across the table to pinch Steve’s cheek, and Bucky just laughs, his eyes sliding warmly to meet Bruce’s.

“What about you, Dr. Banner?” he asks with a smile that’s more than a little rogueish. “Steve’s good lookin’, sure, but depending on the target’s preferences… I might pick you for a honeypot.” 

_ That _ is… unexpected. No one’s flirted with Bruce (other than Tony, who flirts like he’s breathing) in such a long time that he feels his cheeks getting hot before he can do anything about it. He tries to think of something witty to say in response when he notices that Tony’s body has gone preternaturally tight and still next to his. Given how much Tony normally fidgets, that’s enough to raise alarm bells.

“Don’t,” Tony says to Barnes, his tone sharp, voice predatorily low. Bruce has no idea what’s going on until Bucky puts down his drink and holds both hands up in a conciliatory gesture.

“Sorry… I didn’t know he was yours, honest.” At  _ that, _ Bruce’s eyes go a little wide, but also something in his body responds that is  _ not supposed to respond _ anymore, because that shit is  _ not safe _ , and his mind is going a mile a minute even as Tony stutters out an embarrassed response. 

“We’re… he’s not… sorry, it’s just not… the doc’s thing,” he mutters, before Sam quickly picks up a new line of conversation to save the lot of them. Bruce dares a glance back up at Bucky, who looks honestly rather unconvinced, and then to Tony, who is breaking into a piece of garlic bread and staring like it holds the secrets to the universe in its buttery layers. His cheeks are just a bit pink, and his thigh is jiggling again. Bruce isn’t really sure what to think of any of it, but a hand laid gently on Tony’s leg is instinctive enough to calm the other man. He sips from his water glass and pretends to be listening to the conversation, all the while mostly just thinking  _ what the fuck? _

~*~

“Hey. We should talk,” Bruce suggests, a little reluctantly, as he slips into the elevator after Tony. He might not be the best with words, but if he leaves it to Tony, this conversation will never happen. Sure enough, Tony exhales like it pains him and rubs his hands over his cheeks. 

“Yeah. Okay. Is my place good, or would you prefer neutral territory?”   
  


“You own the entire building,” Bruce teases, but his smile does seem to make Tony relax a fraction. “Your place is fine.” 

Tony nods and J.A.R.V.I.S. directs the elevator up to the penthouse suite, where Tony offers him a drink, Bruce declines, and they both end up sitting on one of the big, plush sofas.

“I’m sorry,” Tony blurts out first. “I shouldn’t have done that. It’s not my business who flirts with you.” 

“No it’s not,” Bruce agrees. “But it didn’t bother me.” He’s come to accept that fact over the last thirty minutes of processing what happened and only just pretending to pay attention to his surroundings. “I guess… it was…” Bruce can’t find the words, and he shrugs instead. “You make me feel comfortable, Tony.” 

“Oh. That’s good?”

“Yeah. I don’t… do you think he could be right, though? You don’t normally get possessive like that.”

“Yeah, sorry, again… but how could he be right? We’ve never exchanged. You know I don’t do that.  _ You  _ don’t do that.”

“Not on purpose. But I’m thinking… have you ever felt anything kind of weird around me?” He’s going to feel like a special sort of idiot if he’s wrong, but Bruce is pretty sure his hypothesis bears some weight. He bites his lip, just hoping that Tony doesn’t freak out, or shove him away. Fortunately, to start, all he does is look confused.

“Weird how?”

“Like… sometimes when you touch me,” Bruce admits, and now he’s  _ really _ blushing, “I feel this kind of… liquid warmth down my spine. I thought it was just comfort, I mean, given the context, it’s not like you’ve ever tried to take power from me, that wouldn’t make sense, but…”

Tony’s staring now, gone still again. “...but I might have done it accidentally?”

“There’s precedent,” Bruce mutters. “The Henries and Cox paper. Their sample size was small, but...” 

“Shit. You’re right.” Tony looks utterly floored by the whole thing, and Bruce suddenly realizes what that might mean.

“Tony, I’d never… I mean I didn’t intend to do anything without your consent. I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize long-term abstention could have an effect like this, I guess I’m just…”  _ Needy, weak, submissive, pathetic _ … When his mental voice takes on the tone of his father, Bruce has to stop speaking, closing his eyes and taking slow, calming breaths. After the twelfth inhale-exhale cycle, he feels Tony’s hand gentle and tentative on his knee.

“I’m not mad at you,” Tony quietly affirms. “You can’t… do you really think someone can give power without the consent of the one taking it?”

That question is interesting enough to pull Bruce out of his mental spiral, and he blinks his eyes open, frowning at Tony. “You think it goes both ways?” His voice is embarrassingly rough, but Tony doesn’t seem to notice.

“It hasn’t been studied extensively. Pro-alpha bias, probably, everyone assumes that if someone’s willing to give power of  _ course _ you’d want to take it.” Tony’s tone has a bitter edge, and Bruce frowns sympathetically, gently placing a hand on top of Tony’s. He doesn’t doubt that Tony’s been on the receiving end more than once of assumptions about what people are  _ supposed _ to want when it comes to taking power. “But yeah, I think it goes both ways. I have anecdotal evidence to support the theory, and I’m not so surprised… I mean maybe…” Tony pauses, closes his eyes, and takes a breath of his own. When he opens them again, his gaze is sharp and intent on Bruce’s face. “If there’s anyone I’d feel safe with, it’s you. So yeah. Maybe we found a way to exchange without it being… a thing. Or even noticing,” he adds with an amused huff. 

Bruce can’t help but smile. It seems so silly, when he puts it that way. “That means a lot. That you’d feel safe with me.”

Tony shrugs. “I guess it doesn’t matter, really. I mean we can’t…”

“No,” Bruce agrees. “I can’t do anything too intense, even if you wanted to.”

“I don’t think I do. I just… I guess I like the idea that you could be mine, a little bit,” Tony admits quietly. “But the idea of being responsible for someone I care about scares the fuck out of me. And… you’re too important.” 

“Okay.” Bruce gives Tony’s hand a squeeze, feeling a little pulse of warmth in his chest from the admission, even if he privately thinks Tony could stand to trust himself a bit more. “Then what if nothing has to change? What if we’re just… okay with it, if it’s going to happen sometimes?”

“I could be okay with it,” Tony agrees, smiling a little. “You are my favorite science bro.”

“I’m your only science bro,” Bruce snorts. 

“Yeah, all right. But... you should know,” Tony says, his tone a little softer and his thumb caressing Bruce’s knee. “That... I’ve felt it. Too.”

Bruce’s smile goes wide for a moment, and he just feels suddenly, indescribably lucky.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can we be reasonable about this?” Sam suggests. “The man’s on house arrest. He’s not allowed go anywhere beyond five specific floors of this building, and probably worse, he _could_. He has to use nothing but his own willpower to resist the urge to break out if he just wants to go for a walk outside, and sure, he loves you, but Steve, spending days at a time in confined quarters with you is only marginally better than doing the same with Tony Stark.”
> 
> Steve gives him the _most_ offended look, but Sam holds his ground.
> 
> “You hover, Rogers. Don’t try to deny it. You are just a great big fluffy mother hen wrapped in several hundred pounds of muscle.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you thank you for all the lovely continuing feedback! Just to be perfectly honest here, do expect that from this point on the posting schedule will fall back to probably a chapter every 2-3 weeks, since I'm into the stuff I've only outlined. But I have completed the outline, so I can tell you that'll be ten total chapters, and everything is planned out :-)

Steve Rogers fucks like he’s on a goddamned mission. Which, truth be told, is a good thing, but by the end of it Sam always feels a little soft and loopy and occasionally he can’t feel his thighs. 

“You are so  _ good _ ,” Steve happy-sighs, still offering lingering kisses as they curl together. “What did I do to deserve you, again?”

Sam laughs, his brain pretty non-functional after giving a healthy dose of his power to Steve, and he just wriggles up against Steve’s unfairly hard body rather than offering a verbal response. Steve doesn’t complain, and when he takes the back of Sam’s neck in a firm, controlling grip, Sam sighs out a truly contented sound. He floats for a while like that, feeling held and protected, despite his increased vulnerability just after an exchange. The best kind of tops always give him that feeling, and it’s why he enjoys giving power just as much as he enjoys taking it. People get awed, sometimes, by the fluidity with which he switches from one mode to another, without any particular preference, but for Sam that’s just always been the norm. Both experiences give him a delicious kind of pleasure, if from a different side of the coin, and thus his dynamic tends to hover around neutral most of the time. He doesn’t need to compartmentalize like many people do, with taking in one box and giving in another—for Sam, the two modes are more like one another than they are different, coiled together under the general rubric of exchange and its largely positive associations.

Of course, back in Steve’s day, things were different. Most people did one or the other, with maybe some exceptions where a toppy type would give power to someone exceptionally strong, or the reverse. There were more stereotypes about both giving and receiving power, and the variance was more within a given direction—how often you partook, whether you did it with one or multiple people. According to Tony, Steve had a couple of awkward moments soon after the Battle of New York where he unwittingly made an assumption about someone based on their behavior, and some poor low-level agent had to do damage control. Fortunately, the man learns quickly, and in the period of their acquaintance Sam hasn’t seen any of that, or he’d have something to say.

Frankly, it mostly doesn’t bother him because of his certainty that if Steve  _ did _ step out of line, the man would listen diligently to feedback. He’s like a big puppy sometimes, adorable and receptive and just wanting to do whatever possible to maximize everyone’s pleasure. Sam can’t complain about that, certainly not when they’re tangled together like this, shared energy buzzing faintly in the afterglow.

After maybe half an hour of petting and holding has passed, though, Steve shifts a bit, kissing Sam’s cheek. “Can I move you? I promised Nat I’d bring you over while you’re still dopey.” 

“Dopey,” Sam grunts accusingly, but his grin just after probably ruins it. “Yeah. You can offer me as tribute.” His words are still a little slurred, and Steve laughs at him, but it’s affectionate. Of course, after helping him back into his shorts, Mr. Super Soldier has to scoop Sam up into his arms for transport, and this is about the only time Sam would let him. But Natasha looks pleased when they arrive at her suite, and Steve unceremoniously dumps Sam half into her lap. 

“You good?” she asks Steve with a rather pointed look as Sam arranges himself with pillows supporting his back, and her hand drops easily to pet his bare chest. 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, though his smile is a little sheepish. “I thought… maybe some floor time in a couple of days.” 

“Using your words,” Sam smirks up at him. “Good Steve.”

“Oh, hush.”

Sam laughs and reaches his hands up demandingly. “Kiss before you go.” Of course Steve obliges, bending down and kissing him sweetly on the mouth, a final little zing of connection passing between them. “Yes, floor time,” Sam adds against his lips before letting him go. “Seriously. Good job asking.”   


“All right,” Steve blushes, gives Sam one more kiss, and then gives them some privacy.

“Stubborn idiot,” Natasha mutters as soon as the door swings shut, her nails scritching into Sam’s hair, and he laughs even as a little groan comes on its heels at the tingling in his scalp. She normally keeps her nails almost as short as Steve’s, for professional reasons, but she also waits to trim them sometimes if she knows she’ll be seeing Sam.

“He’s doing better,” Sam murmurs, curling himself around her so that his head is on the pillows stacked at her hip, his thighs pressed against the other side of her body. 

“He is,” she agrees, her other hand stroking pleasantly along his back. “But the bar was pretty low.” 

“For Steve Rogers’ self-care? Absolutely.” 

Natasha snickers, gives his cheek a couple of almost-slap pats. “You should have seen him before you showed up. Now that was a drowning man insisting that he just wanted to go for a nice swim with rocks tied to his shoes…”

“Probably not much choice. You know how Steve is. He doesn’t do strangers. He needs… his people close.” 

“Old school,” Natasha agrees. “Good thing you don’t mind.”

“Course I don’t. He takes good care of me. So do you,” Sam adds, glancing up at her pointedly.

“Thank you,  _ dorogoi _ . I’m glad he brings you to me sometimes.”

Sam doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just closes his eyes and snuggles up against her. Natasha doesn’t have to take power to stay alpha, she just  _ is _ , which is incredibly strange, but something he’s become used to. She probably  _ could _ take power, but she doesn’t, maybe because she worries she’ll end up in a state like Bucky was at first, maybe because she’s not willing to give any of her power to level things out. Sam thinks the latter is likely, given how much the Red Room took from her, continuously over the course of her entire childhood, but he’s not dumb enough to ask. It’s sweet enough that she likes to take care of him after a session with Steve, even if it’s occasional and he doesn’t know why. He likes the way she touches him, how she can take over control of his body even when they’re just cuddling and he’s nearly twice her size. Her hands are steady as they stroke over his body, and eventually he drifts off into an easy doze.

~*~

After the afternoon that ends in a cuddle session with Natasha, it’s actually a couple of weeks before Sam gets laid again. There’s a mission, an extended one, that he’s not needed for, and when the team returns it’s no surprise that Steve spends the entire night holed up in his apartment with Barnes. Bucky’s getting better, but he gets restless when Steve’s not around, and this is the longest period of separation since he turned himself in. Sam offers a couple of times through J.A.R.V.I.S to hang out, spar or something, but Bucky declines, and Sam allows him his space. The morning after the Avengers’ return, however, Steve invites Sam over and Bucky looks just as pleased as Steve to see him. 

“Hey,” Steve grins, hauling Sam in by the back of the neck and kissing him in the bedroom doorway. “Missed you.”

“Yeah,” Sam agrees, his smile fond as he gives Steve a brief hard squeeze. “Glad to have you home.” Steve smells like fresh sweat with an undertone of musk, and he’s giving off a lot of body heat as per usual when he’s been exerting himself. His muscles are relaxed, though, a sure sign of recent play with Bucky.

When Steve lets go, Sam turns to Barnes, who’s lying on his back with the white sheet haphazardly draped over his naked body so that it covers unnecessary parts and not the more scandalous ones. He can’t help but grin a little. “Imagine that makes two of us.”

“Sam,” Bucky murmurs, sounding warm and easy as he reaches out with one hand. “I’m sorry.” 

“Whatcha sorry for?” Sam counters, toeing his shoes off, yanking his shirt over his head, and crawling onto the mattress towards Bucky, bending forward for a kiss. “I haven’t even seen you in two weeks, pretty sure you didn’t do anything to me.”

“Yeah. That,” Bucky agrees in his subspacey slur, and Steve laughs gently as he joins them, bracketing Sam’s body from behind with his thighs and resting a palm over Sam’s stomach. 

“He feels bad about staying scarce,” Steve explains. “I think he was afraid he would want you to take him down, but then more afraid you wouldn’t be able to and he might hurt you.”

“Ah.” That makes easy enough sense, and Sam strokes a hand through Bucky’s hair to soothe him, jerking his fist closed when he finds a good grip. Bucky gasps at the tug, and Sam smiles fondly at him. “No harm done. You’re a good boy, Barnes. Looking out for everyone. Gonna let us look out for you now?” he teases, and Bucky whimpers as he nods, meeting Sam when he leans down for another kiss. Sam gives one of Bucky’s nipples a tweak, grateful to Steve for immediately shifting his hands to hold Sam’s waist and keep him balanced. He loves kissing Bucky when he’s like this, sweet and easy, his responses easy to interpret. His lips are slightly swollen, the indentations of Steve’s teeth just detectable in places. Sam gives his tongue a little suck and enjoys the spark of energy between them, pieces of Bucky’s power flitting across the connection. 

“This good?” he murmurs against Bucky’s lips, letting his hand caress the back of Bucky’s neck. “Feel good?”

“Uh-huh,” Bucky agrees, reaching with his mouth for more kisses.

Sam laughs and indulges him. “Then we’ve got no problems,” he declares. His fingers stroke over bare skin, nails digging in near Bucky’s hipbones just to draw out a whimper.

“Beautiful,” Steve murmurs, dropping his head to kiss a point on Sam’s spine. He shivers, pushes his hips back against the pivot point of Steve’s grip. Bucky smiles against his mouth.

“Yeah you are,” Bucky mumbles agreement, licking at Sam’s lips.

“All right. I see how it is. You two in cahoots,” Sam teases. He balances himself with one hand against the mattress, reaches back to tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair. 

“You complainin’?” Steve trails his lips up to the knob of bone at the top of Sam’s spine, then opens his mouth and bites down on it. Sam’s body jerks with a flood of want and he feels something  _ open _ in him as his hand relaxes, drops to hold his weight. Perched over Bucky’s body on all fours, he gives up on proper kissing and nuzzles at Bucky’s neck instead.

“I don’t think he’s complaining,” Bucky pronounces, his tone droll and satisfied. Coming up a bit already, then, but Sam can’t bring himself to be concerned about it. Steve grips harder and pushes his erection against Sam’s (still clothed, why again?) rear, sucking at the spot his teeth have marked and pulling power from Sam in an effortless flow of pure energy. Steve is a fucking master at this, and Sam won’t deny that he’s missed it. His arms start shaking before Steve’s even done with that one spot, and Bucky gamely pulls him down, chest-to-chest, into an embrace that still leaves his ass sticking up in the air. It should be embarrassing. It isn’t. 

“Sam,” Steve murmurs, reverent, as he unzips Sam’s jeans and tugs them down. He gets two good handfuls and squeezes, fingers massaging the join of ass and thigh, so that Sam instinctively tries to slide his knees further apart and lets out a little pleased gasp of air when he can’t. “God, you’re so…” What he is, Steve doesn’t say, but he does cop a feel, his fingers pressing up gently behind Sam’s balls and encouraging a soft whimper out of him, into Bucky’s neck. 

“Hold onto him, Buck,” Steve orders, and whoo boy, there’s a kink Sam didn’t know he had. Bucky’s still loose and easy with submission, but his hands are unyielding on Sam’s biceps, keeping him pinned down tight against Bucky’s chest. It’s a good precaution, as Steve’s tongue on his asshole unannounced is enough to make Sam’s body want to jackknife with pleasure. The fact that he can’t, caught between Bucky’s grip on his arms and Steve’s on his thighs, sends a shock of energy up his spine and a further intangible release from his energetic field into Steve’s. He’s warm and yet shivering with the exchange, body opening easily to Steve’s eager ministrations. Bucky chuckles near his ear, but it’s not cruel. Sam certainly can’t be blamed for the degree of his arousal—Steve is force to be reckoned with in bed, and Bucky of all people wouldn’t argue that. He won’t come like this, but the treatment does fill his cock out and guide him down into that comfortably hazy place where nothing bothers him. After a bit, Bucky shifts him, just enough to exchange more lazy kisses. And Steve eventually has mercy, once Sam’s ass and thighs are sloppy with spit and he’s begging with little cut-off gasps into Bucky’s mouth, giving Sam’s cock a steady tugging rhythm with one hand.

“Goddamn,  _ please _ ,” Sam groans in between kisses, and Steve actually laughs as he finishes him off, the energy sparking bright and pleased between them. Bucky, too, is smiling, his hands finally relenting in their tight grip and shifting to stroke Sam’s sweaty back with the flesh one. 

“So… you missed me?” Steve asks, shifting over the two of them to kiss the back of Sam’s neck without bothering to wipe the saliva off his chin. 

Sam wants to smack him, but he can’t quite find the energy.

~*~

The thing is, despite the impressive speed of his recovery, Bucky still has bad days. And Steve, who both doesn’t have the kind of experience Sam does with trauma counseling and is also way too invested in his best friend, feels every setback like a personal affront. His kicked puppy look is a little hard to take, but it’s worse when Bucky actually kicks Steve out of the apartment for a few hours one afternoon so that he can get some space.

“Man, if you keep pacing like that you’re gonna wear a hole in my carpet. An actual hole.”  

“Sorry.” Steve stops in the middle of the living room floor and grinds his hands into nervous fists instead. “What if he’s freaking out, though? What if he hurts himself?”

“J.A.R.V.I.S. will notify us if there’s a danger of that, Steve. Please sit down.” Sam gives him a look, putting something authoritative into it, and pats the sofa cushion next to him. Steve sighs like Sam’s taken away his favorite toy, but he does slump down where he’s put. 

“Can we be reasonable about this?” Sam suggests. “The man’s on house arrest. He’s not allowed go anywhere beyond five specific floors of this building, and probably worse, he  _ could _ . He has to use nothing but his own willpower to resist the urge to break out if he just wants to go for a walk outside, and sure, he loves you, but Steve, spending days at a time in confined quarters with you is only marginally better than doing the same with Tony Stark.” 

Steve gives him the  _ most  _ offended look, but Sam holds his ground. 

“You hover, Rogers. Don’t try to deny it. You are just a great big fluffy mother hen wrapped in several hundred pounds of muscle.”

“I care about him,” Steve grumbles, and Sam gives a little by leaning into his side, dragging Steve’s arm around his own body.

“Of course you do. But he’s recovering from decades of torture, regular intense forms of exchange in both directions, the most thorough form of brainwashing on human record,  _ and _ trying to meet whatever expectations he thinks you have based on your shared history. He’s gonna need space sometimes. It’s healthy. Seriously, I’d be much more worried if he didn’t.” 

“Okay,” Steve concedes, even if he still sounds a bit recalcitrant. 

“You know… it’s okay to just say that  _ you _ don’t want to be alone. Or that you need a snuggle. Whatever. You’re allowed to have needs.”

“I know that.”

“Uh huh.”

“I do,” Steve insists, giving Sam a little squeeze to emphasize his point. “But this isn’t about me.”

“Isn’t it?” Sam tilts his head to give Steve his best “bullshit” look, and Steve’s cheeks actually go slightly pink. 

“I’m not the one in recovery.” 

“Keep telling yourself that.” Steve tenses up a bit, but Sam just rests a gentle hand on his frankly ridiculous abs, petting at Steve’s stomach to calm him. “It’s not a judgement. We’re all healing from something or another around here. And you can’t support someone else if you don’t ask for support yourself, that’s like, 101-level shit.”

“I do, though. Why do you think I’m here?”

Sam smiles and twists to rub his cheek a bit against Steve’s chest. “Exactly. C’mon. If you don’t want to actually talk it out, then let’s get your mind off of it for a bit. You wanna go for a run? Sketch in the park?”

Steve, the little shit, grins and reaches over to get a hand under Sam’s further thigh, and then hauls Sam right around so that he’s facing Steve, straddling his lap. “Maybe. Or I could get my workout another way…?”

“You are a menace. I shouldn’t encourage you.”

“You always encourage me,” Steve counters, and then his mouth is on Sam’s and really, Sam can’t disagree.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “See, first, I tell you that I really want to suck your dick. And then you say okay Clint, well that’s pretty hot. And maybe you like it and it makes you want to pull my hair like you did a minute ago. Easy as pie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh, so here's the Clint/Bucky, as promised. And in the next chapter, for those of you specifically here for that, Darcy will be introduced! Everyone is poly because Avengers :-) Thank you so much for all the kind comments.
> 
> CW: brief mentions of abuse

It’s late enough that Bucky doesn’t expect anyone to be in the sauna adjacent the Avengers’ gym, so he’s a little surprised when he spots Clint Barton sitting on the wooden bench opposite the door in the warm dark room. Clint, too, seems surprised, and immediately straightens up from his reclined position.

“Hey, man, c’mon in, I can go.”

“Why?” Bucky frowns, pulling the door closed to keep the heat in, his superior eyes immediately adjusting to the dark as takes a seat caddy corner from Clint. “There’s plenty of space.”

“Oh, I just… if you wanted some time alone…”

Bucky can’t help but smile at that, leaning back against the soft wood and letting his muscles relax bit by bit in response to the sensation of heat. “Not alone. Just away from Steve. Kid can be kind of exhausting.” 

Clint smirks and rubs a hand over his jaw. “Is it weird that I find it kind of satisfying to hear someone call the Cap ‘kid?’”

“Nah,” Bucky smiles. “He’s a punk. Most people ‘round here are just too afraid to say it.”

“Well,” Clint shrugs, finally relaxing back against the bench again, his legs slightly spread under his towel. “I’m not  _ afraid _ . But you, Steve, Tony, you’re kind of a different league than the rest of us. I’ve gotten pretty used to Gods and monsters by now, but I’m not under any illusions. I know I’m still just a guy.” He gestures to himself with one hand, sweeping down his chest as if to indicate his “normal” body, but Bucky can’t help but notice the toned chest, the defined muscles that run the length of Clint’s arms. Bucky smiles wryly and flexes his metal fingers, internal mechanisms whirring softly to automatically keep the inner workings cool in this environment. 

“Maybe. Guess I’m… not anymore.” 

Clint’s silent for a moment, then gives him an astute look, though his relaxed posture doesn’t shift. _ Sniper _ , Bucky thinks. “Not that it’s any of my business, but… you talking about the serum? Or something else?”

“Well. There’s a reason Steve’s higher-ups are trying to hand out therapy like it’s candy,” Bucky elaborates, letting his eyes fall closed so that he’s not actually watching Clint’s reaction, though he could react in an instant if anything changed in the room, sight or no. There’s something about Clint being basically a stranger, but one his most important people trust, that makes it strangely easy to be honest. “Lot of people would be questioning my humanity if certain pieces of my story got out, that’s all I’m saying. Maybe they’re not wrong.” 

Clint makes a little sound, gentle disagreement, most likely. “Well. A pretty smart agent told me once that people aren’t meant to be defined by the torture that’s done to them. Take that as you will.” His voice is a little rough, Bucky notes, though he can’t pinpoint the emotion.

“Maybe,” he concedes. “But let’s be honest. It’s the only version of me I have left.” After a long beat, Bucky opens his eyes and finds Clint’s head cocked slightly to the side, gently inquiring, though he doesn’t ask for clarification. Bucky’s quiet for a moment longer, the thumb of his right hand rubbing idly at the warm wood. Despite his friends, he’s not completely sure why he finds Clint, a man he’s spent a grand total of maybe an hour with, only these few minutes of it alone, trustworthy, but he goes with his instinct on this one and finds the words shaking loose.

“I didn’t have any memories of the procedure,” Bucky explains. “In between wipes. It wouldn’t have worked, otherwise. But I do now.” 

“The procedure? You mean…”

“The way they dropped me after missions before they electrocuted me and put me back in the icebox, yeah. Maybe that’s not what I  _ am _ , but… I can’t quite remember what it felt like, before.” He wants to close his eyes again, but he doesn’t. Talking about this directly makes him want every advantage he can gain from full awareness, on an instinctive level. “I don’t think I know what it is to just… be a human being. Like, Steve can tell me stories, that I used to have girls, and how it used to be with him, but those are just stories. I like being with him and Sam, but it’s still a means to an end. I don’t feel it the same way they do. So maybe you are just a guy, but really I’m kind of envious.”

Clint frowns, his expression considering. His voice is soft when he speaks, but he doesn’t sound pitying. Maybe that’s what makes Bucky feel comfortable with him, the straightforward nature. Combined, perhaps, with all the tics he’s observed that tell him Clint also needs a great deal to feel safe in life, if he ever even can. 

“Is that necessarily a bad thing?” Clint asks. “That it’s a means to an end?” Bucky shrugs half-heartedly, and Clint smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “That’s all it ever was for me,” he admits. “For a long time. It was a way to get what I needed. A transaction.” Clint looks older than he is for a moment, his hands scrubbing over the rough fabric of the white towel stretched across his thighs. “I did some fucked up shit to survive, y’know? That agent, the smart one, he helped me sort it out for a while. I guess… it was something else with him. Sometimes. But, you know, then I was complicit in his murder while I was under the influence of mind control, so… you know.”

It’s highly inappropriate, but Bucky can’t help but grin. “I do, actually.”

Clint laughs, a bitter sound, shaking his head. “These days, I don’t think a transaction has to be so bad. If it gets you what you need. Even with him… he didn’t insist it look like anything in particular. He didn’t treat me like a child because he knew I had a history of abuse, but he didn’t expect me to be intimate in any specific way, either. He let me do what I was comfortable with, and fuck anything else.”

Bucky nods. “Sounds nice.” He thinks it over for a minute when Clint doesn’t continue, his eyes tracing over those muscles with their thin sheen of sweat as he considers what’s been said, and whether there might be an offer in there. He’s not sure Clint can see him looking, in the dark. After a few doubts flash through his mind, predictable, about the strange nature of their suddenly intimate conversation and what Clint must think about someone so  _ broken _ , he gives himself a mental “fuck it” and trudges into unknown territory. “So what does that look like? That kind of scene?”

Clint doesn’t quite meet his eyes dead on, so that answers the question about how much his eyes have been able to adjust in the absence of light, but he does lean forward a bit, forearms on his knees. “You want a bulleted list, or…?”

“I want to drop you,” Bucky interrupts him, his voice going sharp and low. This, he doesn’t have to remember. Clint’s eyes flash brighter, and he pushes his body forward and sideways, off his bench, onto his knees at Bucky’s feet in a move that’s graceful as a cat.

“Hell yes. Do it.”

Even though he’d imagined Clint would be game, he didn’t think  _ this _ game, and he can’t help but lick his lips, fisting his right hand into Clint’s hair and tugging back to expose the man’s throat before his brain can really play into it. 

“Not here,” he growls. He’s not sure exactly how long Clint was in the sauna before he came in, but he knows an unenhanced human has tolerance limits for this level of heat. “We can talk in the showers.”

“Okay,” Clint murmurs, easy enough, and pushes up to his feet. He doesn’t wait for more before heading straight to the door of the little cabin, and Bucky follows him, grateful that the whole locker area is still empty and they don’t have company in the communal men’s shower area. His brain kind of wants to clobber him now that they’re looking each other in the eye, in full light, but Clint’s still gorgeous, and doesn’t seem at all rattled by the unexpectedly deep conversation followed by a proposition. He tosses his towel into a laundry bin, then twists a couple of the dials to hot. 

“Limits,” Clint starts, matter-of-fact, as he steps into the spray and Bucky fairly openly stares at his body. “Don’t take away my sight. Don’t do anything that would impair my ability to respond if I get called out on Avengers business. Heavy pain’s okay, and I’m pretty flexible, but ask if you’re not sure. Humiliation isn’t my kink. Any questions?”

“Uh.” Bucky blinks, tosses his own towel and steps under the other shower head, using it as an excuse to think as he wets himself down. Clint’s confidence keeps him from freaking out, but he still can’t help but think of the homework his therapist gave him, exercises to show others that he’s capable of typical Alpha traits, a kind of fake-it-till-you-make-it charade that Bucky finds highly dubious. He can’t do that with Clint. He can’t  _ be  _ that. “Are you sure you want this?” he ends up asking, and he knows that sounds pathetic, but he can’t help himself. “I mean,” he elaborates as he grabs for a bar of soap, lathering himself up and keeping his eyes away from Clint’s. “I don’t exactly exude cuddly and safe vibes, here. I want you, but I don’t know what I can offer in terms of aftercare. My shrink says I’m supposed to fake it, but…”

Clint snorts and waves his hand as if to bat the idea away. “I  _ really _ don’t care what your shrink says, Barnes. And I appreciate the heads up, but honestly, that’s all some evolutionary bullshit. I can take care of myself. Not only do I not need someone to be all smooshy teddy bear to take power, I’m straight-up not comfortable with that,” he explains, rubbing shampoo through his hair and then tilting back into the spray to rinse. “That kind of thing… it always feels a little like forced intimacy, even if my biology does want a certain amount of comfort after that kind of scene. You make sure I’m physically okay, give me about ten minutes of skin-to-skin touch, and I’ll be good. I definitely don’t expect you to feed me for the next three days or follow me around like a puppy dog.” He grins, then, and coughs “Steve” deliberately into his hand. Bucky laughs at that and doesn’t pull away when Clint approaches him with another handful of shampoo. 

“Let’s be honest,” Clint offers, gathering Bucky’s hair up towards his scalp and massaging through the whole mess. “Your perspective is likely pretty influenced by the fact that you’ve mostly hung around Steve and Sam since you got here.” His fingers scrape against Bucky’s scalp, then, and Bucky can’t help the tiny pleased groan that induces. Clint doesn’t comment, but continues the treatment working down towards his ears and the base of his neck. “Those two aside, the rest of the Tower isn’t exactly normative when it comes to power exchange. You think I’m expecting anything in particular, I’m probably not. We’re all fucked up to some degree here, you’re in good company.” 

“Yeah?” Bucky smiles, letting Clint run his hands through Bucky’s hair to rinse the shampoo residue out. “I do like the company, so far,” he teases.

“Damn right.” Clint reaches for the conditioner, steers Bucky back a couple of steps out of the spray so he can work it through the ends. “I think you got this, man. Seriously.”

“All right,” Bucky agrees. “Though… I still don’t think you should expect too much. I mean… I know I’ve taken a lot of power over the years, but I barely remember how to do it when it’s about desire. Mine  _ or _ yours. It’s just… maybe a means to an end is okay, but I want you to  _ like _ it. I want to do it because you like it,” he admits, voice going a bit gruff. Clint doesn’t say anything to that, not at first, carefully rinsing out all the strands of Bucky’s hair in the high-pressure stream, but then he reaches for the shower dials and turns them both off, before facing Bucky with a clean towel and starting to rub them both down.

“Trust me. That’s easy enough,” Clint promises with a confident little smile. “You’re so busy trying to talk me out of wanting you that you’re forgetting I’m a sure thing, man.” Reaching up, he starts to scrub the towel against Bucky’s scalp, the position putting them conveniently close and face-to-face. “See, first, I tell you that I really want to suck your dick. And then you say okay Clint, well that’s pretty hot. And maybe you like it and it makes you want to pull my hair like you did a minute ago. Easy as pie.”

Bucky stares at him, lets him finish the towelling off, and then yanks the towel from Clint’s hand, tosses it into the laundry bin, and shoves Clint up against the tile wall. He stumbles a bit on the wet floor, but Bucky keeps him steady, bracing him so he can’t fall. Kissing, he knows with a comfortable recency (thanks, Steve), so he starts there, his mouth on Clint’s and biting more than anything because of the sounds it draws out of the other man. Clint’s body is warm and sturdy and suddenly yes, Bucky wants his dick sucked very much, thank you. He’s surprised by his  _ hunger _ —he’d known he needed this, but not how much—and his body operates on instinct to exert control with his tongue, his hands, anything to draw more of those little gasps and groans out of the man in his arms. 

Pretty soon, he doesn’t want to be standing anymore, and it’s easy enough to get his metal hand under Clint’s ass and lift, carrying Clint over to the wooden benches and swiping a few folded clean towels on the way. He drops those on the floor in front of the bench, and then sits with Clint his lap, a few more biting kisses enjoying the tight grip of Clint’s thighs around his waist before he pulls back with a cheeky grin, his hand squeezing the back of Clint’s neck. He’s already feeling little sparks between them, a rush that’s nothing like what he feels when he gives power to Steve or Sam, but just as delicious. 

“Why aren’t you on your knees yet?” he teases, and Clint responds with a good natured laugh, only a little awkward as he swings one leg around and then the other, repositioning himself on the towels kneeling between Bucky’s legs. 

“Is this my better angle?” Clint teases, and Bucky loves how easy this is, the way the mutual joking does nothing to dampen the fire burning between them. 

“Hmm, let’s see,” Bucky pretends to consider, reaching for the back of Clint’s head with one hand and getting a good grip in his hair again, tugging back just a bit and then gently inserting two metal fingers into Clint’s mouth. When Clint doesn’t freak out at all, Bucky pushes down on his tongue, forcing his mouth open, and savors the way Clint moans, rocks his hips just a bit. Another spark leaps up to meet him, his blood singing with newfound energy. “I think this is more like it,” he murmurs, and what he meant to come out teasing is instead dark with heat. When he slides his fingers back out of Clint’s mouth, it stays open, pleading, and he pulls Clint onto his cock in one smooth motion, groaning at the pressure. 

Sam would have some dirty talk for the moment, sparse but eloquent and appropriately spine-tingling. Steve would just fuck his face, gasping like he can’t believe he’s so lucky to get the privilege of having his dick sucked (even though Bucky knows, point of fact, the streets of New York are just bursting with such opportunities for Captain America). But Bucky’s quiet and easy, letting Clint work at his own pace, only reinforcing the dynamic with a firm hand at the back of his neck, fingers caressing but not quite reaching Clint’s throat. He’s a bit overwhelmed by the whole thing, but Clint doesn’t seem to need much to let his power slip across the connection. He keeps his eyes open the whole time, flicking between Bucky’s face and the task at hand, and though the angle isn’t quite right for deep-throating, he does let the head of Bucky’s cock brush at the back of his throat intermittently. Each time, the muscles tighten and he makes a little choking sound, but rather than being bothered by the near loss of control, each of those moments push another little spark of energy Bucky’s way, and the whole thing gives him _ ideas _ for next time, if there is one. 

Though the serum has improved his stamina, eventually Clint has Bucky gasping and tapping urgently at his shoulder. “If you don’t want to swallow…” Though his mouth’s occupied, that’s definitely a grin lighting up Clint’s eyes, and he adds a thumbs-up for clarity, taking Bucky as deep as he can and sucking hard. Bucky only manages not to fall backwards off the bench by some miracle of coordination, as the release makes his muscles spasm and his hips twitch violently. Clint rides the motion without complaint, jacking himself off fast and hard through it, and before Bucky can actually offer a hand or a mouth, he’s watching Clint come all over his own hand, the edge of the bench, and the pile of towels. 

“Fuck,” Bucky mutters, kind of dazed, and Clint just laughs, leaning against Bucky’s thigh.

“A plus plus. Would blow again,” Clint promises with a loopy grin, and Bucky doesn’t even know  _ what  _ to say to that, so he doesn’t try.

~*~

After clean-up and some cuddles in the empty lounge adjacent to the gym, Clint declares himself good to go, and Bucky sneaks off to bed, climbing in next to a gently-snoring Steve. If he thinks he’s off the hook, though, he’s quickly proven otherwise when the morning rays light up their bedroom and Steve wakes with a suspicious look on his face not ninety seconds after they’ve said good morning. 

“Something’s different,” he frowns, kissing Bucky as if the answer might somehow be found on the surface of his lips. Bucky rolls his eyes and waits for it, propping up on one arm. 

“Wait… you came in late last night, didn’t you?” Steve pulls out of his sleep-addled brain. “You weren’t around when I went to bed.”

“Yeah. I… made time with Barton,” Bucky admits, knowing that delaying this announcement will just make Steve more curious. Predictably, Steve’s face lights up with a grin pretty much immediately. 

“Oh  _ did _ you?”

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky grouses, shoving him in the chest as he sits up the rest of the way. He can’t really be angry though.

“Barton. I should’ve guessed. Those arms…” Steve wiggles his eyebrows like a big dork, and sits up a little behind Bucky, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s torso and resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder. “How was it?”

Bucky can’t be mad at him, not when there’s no real reason, and strokes one of his forearms obligingly. “It was… good. I told him how it’s all… jumbled up, you know? Since I didn’t really  _ earn _ anyone’s submission as the Soldier. Or vice versa. That the wires are crossed. But he didn’t mind that I don’t really know what I’m doing. I guess he’s… had some fucked up stuff, too.”

“It’s a common theme around here,” Steve agrees, his tone soft and a little sad, kissing Bucky’s neck. “I’m glad you’ve found each other.”

“Well now, don’t act like it’s some big Hallmark moment.”

“A what?”

“Nevermind. Just… you don’t have to get sappy.” 

“I’m always sappy.” 

Bucky laughs, because it’s true, and lets himself lean back against Steve’s warm weight. He thinks about how he’s become a bit quietly obsessed with aftercare, when he bottoms, since he never got that affection before, even if the wires  _ are _ crossed, and wonders if Clint is like that too, if he should’ve done more. But Clint’s a grownup, and he didn’t ask, he reminds the niggling thread of doubt in the back of his mind. It’s probably not normal that  _ this _ almost feels like aftercare, snuggling with Steve, even though he didn’t give Steve power last night. But Steve never says no to a cuddle, so Bucky decides not to question it too much, shifting a little in his arms so that they can kiss again, soft and lazy. Steve makes an affirming sound into his mouth, fingertips trailing up his spine until he shivers. 

“Good boy,” Steve murmurs against his lips, and Bucky snorts.

“For what?”

“Getting what you need,” Steve says, and proceeds to occupy Bucky’s mouth with his tongue before he can argue. Now that’s just  _ weird _ , getting praise from the guy who’s pretty much been siphoning off his excess power like a sponge for weeks, as a response to him  _ taking _ power from someone else. He kind of wants to argue, but Steve keeps him trapped in place with his posture and kisses him deep and eventually he gives up the protest instinct, melting a little against Steve’s strong frame. 

“Goddamn,” Bucky gasps when Steve’s fingers trail up his spine again, and Steve grins, pushing him back onto the mattress with a hard enough shove that his head actually clears the edge. But rather than help him back up, Steve just climbs onto Bucky’s chest and pins him, the great brute, locking one hand over Bucky’s throat and pushing two fingers of the other into Bucky’s mouth while his head hangs upside down. The rough certainty makes something in Bucky’s gut clench in desire, and strangely, though it normally takes a little more shoving around to get Bucky fully in the mood these days (and he might expect even  _ more _ after the dynamic last night), this time he goes easy. The pressure at his throat, the fingers easily pushing in to breach it, sink him quick, his body going lax with the lassitude that comes with full surrender to Steve. The power feels like a warm gush of energy as it leaves him, no resistance, and his mind drops to some quiet place as lets Steve fuck his mouth. 

  
“That’s good, Buck,” Steve whispers above him. “My good boy.” It’s almost a relief, the way those words make him feel, the sense of  _ right _ . He’s done the right thing. Whatever happened last night, however weird, he earned it. He’s worthy. He’s  _ good _ . A few tears prick at his eyes, but he doesn’t feel sad. Steve hunches over and licks around his mouth, pressing Bucky’s tongue down with his fingers, and for a moment he just lets everything go.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey guys! It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I do mean a pleasure,” she grins, giving Steve the world’s most obvious up-and-down visual assessment. Flabbergasted as he is, standing there with his legs slightly apart, arms crossed, facial expression the equivalent of a thought bubble reading “?!?!” Clint won’t deny that Steve looks good. The high-waisted black pants he’s wearing do wonders for his legs, and though the sky blue polo shirt is unnecessarily preppy, it stretches across his chest like threads are going to start popping any minute now. Darcy meets his eye directly when she’s done ogling, and simultaneously reaches out to elbow Clint in the side. 
> 
> “Okay, seriously, does he always have this much big dick energy? Because it’s gonna be distracting.”
> 
> “Uh… I feel I have information on that topic that I am not at liberty to divulge.”
> 
> \---
> 
> Steve is smooth with Clint, not even remotely smooth with Darcy, Clint thinks Steve and Bucky are hot together, and it's not like anyone's dating or anything.

Over the past month, Clint has become very satisfied with his sex life. They don’t make it _a thing_ exactly, and that’s good for him, because too much romance tends to make him twitchy. But they fuck, regularly, and Bucky takes power from him and gives him exactly as much aftercare as he wants on a given day, and never asks too many questions. He wasn’t wrong about the power of those thighs, and Bucky’s not afraid to get kinky with the metal arm, so all-in-all, no complaints. 

When they play one night until they’re both exhausted, after a round of nightmares Bucky couldn’t quite shake, he somewhat apologetically offers to let Clint sleep in the big bed with him and Steve, and it’s unsentimental enough that Clint doesn’t say no. He’s not gonna lie, it’s nice having a big warm body next to him when his nerves are pinging for safety and comfort, as long as they don’t read anything into it. He sleeps well for what’s left of the night, and only wakes when he hears the soft smacking sounds of kisses, interspersed with whispers, coming from a foot away. It’s bright in the bedroom, and he only opens his eyes halfway, but what he sees doesn’t exactly inspire him to close them.

Steve’s hand is on the back of Bucky’s neck, but there’s nothing submissive about Bucky’s posture as they kneel up in the bed together, chest-to-chest, the sheets rumpled around their calves. He has Steve’s waist in a sure grip, and they’re kissing deeply, trading control back and forth. From what he can gather by their body language, Steve’s trying to leave the bed, and Bucky’s trying to drag him back down. Steve laughs softly between kisses, and Bucky tugs Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth, grinding his hips forward. Eventually they’re both grabbing at each other’s hair, basically tongue-fucking each other, and Clint’s hard under the sheet feeling like he’s secretly watching a porn clip or something, _Hardcore Alpha-on-Alpha Action_. They’re active enough that they must know he’s awake… well, probably. Steve grabs Bucky’s ass and Bucky growls low in his chest, tugging Steve’s hair harder until he moans softly into Bucky’s mouth. Yeah...how did Clint get this lucky again?

Eventually Steve catches his eye, and he decides to stop playing possum. It’s invitation enough, so he shifts up and licks his way up the knobs of Bucky’s vertebrae, his thumbs sweeping along the crease between Bucky’s ass and his thighs. 

“Clint,” Bucky groans, mumbled into Steve’s mouth. 

“Got it in one.” Clint’s teasing, shifting up a bit and mouthing at the back of Bucky’s neck. “This looks like a good morning.” 

“Yeah, no complaints,” Bucky agrees, his voice still sleepy-slurred, and tilts his head back and to the side so that he can kiss Clint. Clint’s thumbs brush over his asshole at the same time, gently tugging apart, and Bucky doesn’t complain. Possibly because Steve’s hand is on his dick. But y’know, just a theory. 

“Can I blow you?” Steve suggests, and Bucky snickers a bit, letting his head fall back onto Clint’s shoulder. 

“I feel like that’s not a question you ever need to ask, Rogers.” Steve rolls his eyes in fond, familiar exasperation, and catches Clint’s eye with a grin before shuffling down to get his mouth around his boyfriend’s cock. 

“Consent is polite,” Clint teases, lifting one hand up to spit on his fingers before reaching back down and continuing to massage at the rim of Bucky’s hole, coaxing it into relaxation. 

“I’m pretty sure it’s implied, with this asshole,” Bucky counters, but his tone is a little breathy as he threads his fingers into Steve’s hair, half-directing him, half just resting his hand there. 

“Granted.” Clint rotates his wrist and pushes a finger in, the muscle still resisting without the slide of real lube, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind the friction, groaning in appreciation. 

“Fuck, Barton.” Clint grins and pushes harder against his prostate. He actually manages not to make the obvious joke about perfect aim, which he feels must demonstrate his growth as a person. Bucky’s riled up enough that it only takes another minute for him to shoot into Steve’s mouth, and then Steve’s pushing back up with a satisfied grin to kiss Bucky some more as Clint carefully extracts his finger.

“That’s kind of nasty,” Clint opines, watching them. “I think I might like it.” 

“Please, like you don’t taste your own jizz,” Bucky mutters, sounded vaguely offended, when the kiss breaks. “I know for a fact that you have no standards, Hawkeye.”

“Hmm. You’re not wrong.”

“Besides,” Steve adds, shifting around to sit beside Clint with his back against the headboard. “The war cured us of being bothered by anything civilians might consider ‘gross’ a long time ago.” He ducks his head, nuzzles Clint’s shoulder a bit, and Clint rolls his eyes since no one can see. Great big teddy bear.

“I concede the point. Can someone make coffee happen?”

“Yeah, you,” Bucky suggests, sliding down the bed to lie on his stomach and grin up at Clint. “I’m enjoying my afterglow.”

“Pig.” Clint doesn’t actually mind, though. He brews the coffee strong and doctors his own heavily with sugar while the two soldiers get a large mug, black, to share. When he returns to the bedroom, Steve has his legs spread and is lazily tugging at his erection while Bucky curls up next to him, face against Steve’s hip. Clint snickers, puts the coffee on the nightstand since Steve’s otherwise occupied. 

“Is that a hint?” he asks, nodding at Steve’s lap.

“Only if you want it to be,” Steve replies, his voice low and gentle, paired with the boyish smile all the girls freak out over. 

Clint licks his lips consideringly, takes a sip of his own coffee before he answers, still standing beside the bed. “You think you’re so smooth, don’t you,” he teases. Steve pouts, Bucky snickers into his hip, and Clint takes another gulp of coffee before putting it on the nightstand with theirs and crawling back into bed. “No, it’s all right, you totally are,” he admits, straddling Steve’s thigh and wrapping his own hand around Steve’s, threading their fingers and letting his thumb slip over the head on the upstroke. Steve lets out a soft sigh, leaning in hopefully, and though Clint doesn’t _always_ kiss, even he can’t say no to Captain America. He lets Steve lick into his mouth as they work his cock together, and Clint rubs a bit against his thigh, firm and slow enough that friction isn’t a problem. 

“You’re really good,” Steve murmurs into his mouth, so soft and genuine that Clint feels a bit of his power slipping loose around the edges of their kiss, his body awareness softening to a diffuse feeling of pleasure. This is definitely how Cap gets all the boys, he decides, sucking a bit at Steve’s tongue. 

“Pretty,” Bucky murmurs from the bed, looking up at them, trailing his fingers over Clint’s hip.

“No one asked you,” Clint replies like a reflex, but it’s soft between kisses and he doesn’t deny the warm glow in his belly at the praise. He’s got a tiny exhibitionist kink, even if it’s normally at too many cross-purposes with his other issues to come out. Steve slips his hand out from under Clint’s, reaches for a drawer to add some lube to the equation, and then lets Clint continue to jerk him as he puts both hands on Clint’s body, gripping him firmly by the waist. Steve moves him with little effort, controlling the way he grinds, and he feels his own muscles relax as Steve takes little sips of power from him, directing his movements. Clint’s eventually gasping into the crook of Steve’s neck, which is probably not normal when he’s the one giving the handjob, and then after Steve comes, Bucky grabs hard enough around Clint’s wrist that he has no leverage. All he can do is watch helplessly as Bucky licks the come from Clint’s fingers, then sucks each one so hard that Clint can feel it in his dick twitching against Cap’s thigh. 

“Are you going to come for me?” Steve whispers into Clint’s ear low and rough, swiping his hand through the mess of lube and semen and using it to work Clint’s now-throbbing erection. 

“Fuck, yes,” Clint gasps, and he kind of drools a little on Steve’s skin as he can’t help his open-mouthed panting while Steve gets him off, but he also can’t bring himself to care. If he looks down, he can see Bucky pinning him with a hard hungry gaze, and his wrist is still caught in Bucky’s hand, and when he comes it’s a perfect demonstration of why they call it a _release_. He goes completely limp, after, and Steve just shifts him down into Bucky’s arms, crowding him from the other side, and normally this would be too much but Clint’s perfectly sated and too wiped to care. 

~*~

They’re not, like, _dating_ or anything, but it’s clear that Clint’s welcome in Steve and Bucky’s apartment pretty much whenever, and it doesn’t matter which of them is home. Steve takes power like he’s entitled to it, but he’s too much of a freaking sweetheart for Clint to get mad about it, and Bucky and Clint still have their thing, sometimes rough and sometimes easy. Bucky even mentions off-hand one day that if Clint’s game, he could top Bucky sometime, and though he doesn’t sound like he expects Clint to say yes, Clint isn’t called easy for nothing. Basically, his life is great, if a little weird. 

Then there’s a portal, wormhole, _thing_ opened over Kansas, and all the Avengers do a lot of sit around and wait in a soybean field before they give up and back to the Tower with a shitton of readings Bruce and Tony gathered to try and get more information. Personally, Clint would’ve maybe preferred actual aliens to shoot at, but he doesn’t have a choice in the matter, and ends up wandering, bored, to Natasha’s apartment while the science bros pick at the data and Steve tries in vain to strategize without any. 

“Hey. Toblerone?” She rolls her eyes, but lets him in, and even offers vodka to go with the giant chocolate bar. He likes the satisfying snap when he breaks it in two, and she likes pilfering the bigger piece. 

“No super soldiers to pick on?” she teases, and he just waves a hand to deflect.

“Steve thinks he can come up with battle plans for the most likely seven hundred or so scenarios, and Barnes is doing target practice.”

Natasha blinks. “Why?”

“Fuck if I know,” Clint shrugs. “Maybe he thinks he’ll get cleared for action soon. Or maybe he just thinks Cap might do some dumb enough shit that he’ll get called in anyway, in an emergency.” 

She smirks. “Or dumb enough, and they won’t have to call?” Clint can’t disagree with her. If Steve was ever in real danger, and Bucky had a way to get to him, Clint doesn’t doubt for a second that protocol wouldn’t put the slightest cramp in his plans. Of course, he’d do the same for Natasha, and vice versa, so neither of them can judge. They sip vodka and eat chocolate in silence for a moment, before she speaks up again.

“He might actually _be_ cleared soon.”

“Yeah? They ask you?”

She gives a non-commital shrug and doesn’t answer the question. “He’s more stable these days. Seems like he’s giving power to Steve because he wants to, not because he’s stuck out of alignment. That makes him less of a threat.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s a threat to anyone who gets in his way, regardless. But then, _you’re_ on the team.”

Natasha hits him in the bicep, hard, and he spits a bit of vodka onto his knees. 

“Aw, jeans, no.”

She rolls her eyes. “Be glad that wasn’t my carpet, _yastrebka_. Anyway, I didn’t mean that he’s not a threat in general. I mean that he’s harder to control, like this.”

“If it’s cool with you, I’d rather HYDRA not get anywhere near him, nevertheless.” Clint’s eyes are a bit hard, and she nods sharp agreement. 

“Tony’s got algorithms on algorithms tracking HYDRA movement. If they’re involved with an op, we’ll know.”

“And keep him out of it?”

She shrugs. “Probably. I don’t make the calls.”

“But Steve does,” Clint points out, and she gives him a clear enough look. _Exactly._

~*~

“Barton!” someone squeals from the elevator bank, and he’s only just looked up in time to catch a buck fifty of pure enthusiasm flying across the common area and into his arms. Clint laughs and catches her under the thighs, accepts a barely-lingering kiss on the mouth with grace. When he lets her down, everyone else in the vicinity—which at the moment happens to include Steve, Bucky, and Jane Foster—is staring. 

“I thought you _hated_ SHIELD,” Jane exclaims with an air of betrayal. Darcy just laughs and pats Clint on the chest. “Yeah, but Barton and I made up before he left New Mexico. Biblically.” She winks at Jane, whose expression shifts to exasperated disgust, and Bucky and Steve just keep staring at her. After a moment, she actually notices, and grins at the two of them. “Aw, crap, did you think Barton was a virgin? Did I give away your secret, Hawkguy?” Clint snorts and shoves her lightly.

“Be nice, Darce. Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, this is Darcy Lewis. Foster’s assistant.” They already know who Jane is, as she’s specifically been brought in to consult on the wormhole-thingy, and after taking one look at how Darcy’s eyeing up the two super soldiers, she turns on her heel with a muttered explanation about the lab and goes right back into the elevator. 

“Hey guys! It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I do mean a pleasure,” she grins, giving Steve the world’s most obvious up-and-down visual assessment. Flabbergasted as he is, standing there with his legs slightly apart, arms crossed, facial expression the equivalent of a thought bubble reading “?!?!” Clint won’t deny that Steve looks good. The high-waisted black pants he’s wearing do wonders for his legs, and though the sky blue polo shirt is unnecessarily preppy, it stretches across his chest like threads are going to start popping any minute now. Darcy meets his eye directly when she’s done ogling, and simultaneously reaches out to elbow Clint in the side. 

“Okay, seriously, does he always have this much big dick energy? Because it’s gonna be distracting.”

“Uh… I feel I have information on that topic that I am not at liberty to divulge,” Clint responds, but he can’t help himself from snickering, because the look on Steve’s face is priceless. “You might want to not talk about Cap’s dick in front of him, though, because he’s got no idea how to deal with as much woman as you are, Darce.” 

“That’s okay,” she smiles at Steve. “Most people don’t! But I wasn’t actually talking about your dick, I promise, just…” she waves a hand up and down his body. “Big dick energy. It’s a thing. Google.”

Now Bucky’s also snickering, and steps forward to offer Darcy his hand while Steve still appears to be at a loss for what to say about all this. 

“James Barnes, ma’am. Pleasure to meet you.” Her eyes go a little wide when he bends over her hand to kiss it, and Clint is all sorts of eye roll at that, because of course Bucky would put on the old-school charm just to make Steve look bad. 

“Ooh, definitely same. So are you guys in on this whole space science frenzy, or do you just wait like Barton for them to tell you what to shoot at?”

“Hey!” 

“The latter,” Bucky smiles. “Though I’m not actually on the team, so shooting is frowned upon. And Steve doesn’t much like guns.”

“Oh right, of course, the shield.” She frowns a bit, cocking her head to the side. “Not to be rude or anything, and seriously, just shove me if this is insulting, but I’ve always wondered about that since we studied World War II in history class. I mean, I know guns aren’t your thing, but it seems like you would want some back up. Like, how many baddies can you _actually_ take out with a heavily reinforced Frisbee as a weapon?” 

Bucky smirks a bit at that, and claps Steve on the back. “Well, ma’am, it seems none of us have anything in particular to do right now. I’m sure Steve would be happy to show you.” 

~*~

For all Steve says he doesn’t like being paraded around like a dancing show pony, when the old USO tours come up in conversation, he sure doesn’t seem to mind tossing the shield around the practice gym, taking out JARVIS-controlled drones for Darcy’s amusement up in the observation balcony. The show’s nothing new for Clint or Bucky, but Darcy’s clearly fascinated, leaning over the railing to watch far enough that Clint hooks a finger in her belt, just in case. Afterwards, she gives him a cheerful ovation, and then they end up all having dinner together at a nearby dive within Bucky’s allowable radius, joined by Natasha and Sam. 

It is thus highly predictable when Steve invites Clint back to their bedroom later that evening, and sits him down on the sofa while Bucky showers, a blush high on his cheeks before he’s even asked his first question. 

“Uh, I was wondering something… and tell me to mind my own business if it’s too private, but it seems from what I’ve learned about Miss Lewis that she maybe wouldn’t…”

“Yeah, Darcy’s an open book, pretty much, especially if you’re about to ask about her sex life,” Clint agrees, and Steve blushes even brighter.

“I…”

“I mean, not that she would spill anyone else’s secrets, don’t get me wrong. She’s just not gonna be ashamed of her own preferences. So what did you want to know?”

“Right. Well. Which… way was it? When you two… I mean…”

“This is utterly hilarious,” is all Clint says, after letting him flounder for a minute, and then Steve has enough presence of mind to whack him on the chest in retaliation. 

“Shut up. I’m not good with girls.” 

“I see that.” Clint smiles, and then he takes pity on him. “It wasn’t any ‘which way,’” he explains. “It was just sex. No power exchange. So if you want to know what she likes in that arena, you might as well just ask her, cause I honestly don’t know.”

“Is that even… I mean, it’s okay to…?”

“Not all girls are going to appreciate it, no. But Darcy’s made it pretty obvious that she’s interested in you. I think she’d be happy to tell you what she’s up for, if you tell her you’re into it.” Clint puts a hand on Steve’s thigh, trying to be reassuring. “She’s good in bed. Super straightforward. I wouldn’t try to seduce her the way you’re used to, just use your words. The worst she could say is ‘no.’”

“I guess,” Steve agrees. “Would that stop you and Buck from laughing at me?” he asks with a bit of a wary look at Clint, and Clint just grins, leans over to tug at Steve’s earlobe with his teeth. 

“Not a chance.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I guess it’s weird for you, too, like, welcome to the twenty-first century, here’s a woman who hooked up with your BFF and gets turned on by boys kissing! The future is freaky.”
> 
> Darcy Lewis, ladies and gentlequeers. We're back to Steve's POV for this chapter, but really, I think Darcy is stealing this show.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think it is probably worth noting, since there's been a lot of M/M stuff in this story so far, that this chapter contains M/F and M/M + F sexytimes, and most of the rest of the story, except maybe chapter eight, will be more gender-diverse in its porn than the first half. Also I hope the length of this chapter will be sufficient to tide you over because the next one will need some care to do right and I don't want to promise a specific timeline. BUT I'M REALLY EXCITED ABOUT IT. So hopefully quality over speed is an understood prioritization :-)
> 
> ps - before this story is over, I hope we find out what Darcy's lipstick is. Lipsense? Beauty Bakerie? Inquiring minds demand to know.

Taking Darcy out to dinner is an altogether pleasant affair, though Steve finds that unfortunately repeated exposure to her unique sense of humor and direct way of speaking does not reduce his propensity to blushing. She doesn’t seem to mind much, though, nor does she tease him about it overmuch. If anything, it just makes her flirt more audaciously, and he can hardly complain. She’s a real knockout in a navy dress with a flared skirt and a low neckline, along with a pair of pumps that give her a reason to hold onto his forearm as they walk from the restaurant to the car after sharing a dessert. Her bright red lipstick has stayed on through the meal, which is probably rather impressive chemistry, but that’s more Tony or Bruce’s thing. Mostly he’s wondering if that’s the only thing it would stay on through, though he’s enough of a gentleman not to voice that curiosity out loud. 

Aside from the obvious attraction, he really does  _ like _ Darcy. She’s the kind of brash that attracted him to Peggy Carter back in the day, no-nonsense and full of opinions. He finds her political science background genuinely interesting, and they end up spending half their meal discussing socialism, of all things. Economic inequality gets his blood pumping almost as hard as a pretty dame in a low-cut dress, and she’s clearly delighted both to have a conversational partner who wants to engage on such things and to hear stories of the meetings he attended in the 30s. They’re still talking through the car ride about the reaction in New York to the Spanish Civil War, but when they get to the residential elevators of the tower, she turns a suddenly wicked grin on him.

“Would you like to come up for coffee? And in case you’re not up on the modern lingo, ‘for coffee’ means to fuck me.” Steve’s eyes widen for half a second, but then he’s letting his desire take the reins and steps into her personal space, a hand at the small of her back to kiss her as deeply as he dares. Darcy makes a pleased sound, winding her arms around his neck.

“Yes,” he answers her when they pull apart for air, and she giggles and tugs him into the elevator. 

“I like it,” she declares, though what exactly she likes she doesn’t specify, just taps the button for her floor and then shoves him against the wall of the car with both of her small, well-manicured hands. Of course, she couldn’t budge him if he didn’t want to move, but he obligingly stumbles back in response and catches her around the waist as she pushes up to meet his mouth again. Her kiss is just as demanding as his, neither of them bothering to take it slow, and he kind of loves it. As the elevator climbs at speed, his hands drift down to cup her rear, and she makes a little encouraging sound against his mouth when he gives it a squeeze. She also nips at his lips, lets her nails dig into the back of his neck a little, and the roughness is refreshing—somehow an altogether different beast from the violence of his couplings with Bucky or the easy compliance of Clint or Sam. It’s not power exchange, but it has an edge, which seems about right for her. Steve groans, encouraging her, and they don’t stop kissing when the elevator comes to a halt, just stumbling a little awkwardly into the hall. She turns them so that he’s the one backwards walking, leading the way to her apartment, and when they make it there he cheekily grabs her wrist to press her palm to the biometric sensor before she can reach for it.

“I want you to fuck me,” she declares when they’re both inside, and he’s shoved her up against the inside of the front door because hello solid surface, he’s not picky. He gulps in a bit of air at that frank declaration, already nodding before she continues to speak, and she’s smiling at him like she knows exactly the effect she has. “But can you get me off first?”

“Oh yes,” he half-moans, pressing his lips against hers again because he can’t not. “Do you want my mouth?”   

“Damn. How many girls do you think have dreamed about hearing  _ those _ words from these lips?” Darcy laughs, pressing her fingertips to the lips in question. Her eyes flare up with a darker kind of heat when he purses them around two fingers, sucking hard and sudden just to the first knuckle, but surprisingly she shakes her head in reply to the actual question.

“Not tonight, actually, though  _ fuck  _ that mouth is pretty.” She ruffles his hair a bit and he smiles slightly without breaking the suction. “It’s too hit-or-miss for me, rather have your fingers. Cool?”

“Very cool,” he agrees, and blushes as a thin stand of saliva trails from her fingertip to his lower lip. For Darcy’s part, her eyes stay dark and she just wipes her hand across his cheek in a quick caress.

“Bedroom,” she declares, and laughs when his response to that is just to get a good grip on her thighs and then hike her up to where her legs wrap naturally around his waist, carrying her through the dim apartment to the obvious place where a bedroom would be in the layout. Unlike the Avengers’ permanent suites, this one only has the one bedroom, but still a decently large bed, he’s pleased to note. “Hang on, gotta pee first,” she instructs once they’re inside, and he lets her down with one more searing kiss, appreciating her slightly rumpled look as she disappears into the bathroom. While she’s in there, he backtracks to the kitchen to wash his hands, checking that his fingernails are decently trimmed, and grins in the mirror over the sink when he realizes that none of her lipstick has in fact transferred. Ablutions done, he returns to the bedroom to sit on the foot of the bed and wait, unbuttoning his shirt as he does. He’d skipped an undershirt, at Sam’s recommendation, left a couple of top buttons undone, but when Darcy returns to find him sitting there with his shirt all the way open her expression is decidedly hungry. 

“Not bad, soldier,” she evaluates in a husky tone, practically stalking towards him. She’s still fully dressed, but barefoot, and when she comes to stand in between his legs the height of the bed puts her where he only has to tilt his head up to kiss her. His groan is involuntary, reverberating through his chest, when her body presses up against his with no shyness about his obvious erection. One hand finds the soft curls of her hair as she teases into his mouth with her tongue again, but the other reaches down to sneak up under the fabric of her dress, fingertips skimming up her thigh until they find a band of cotton and yank down. 

“Ooh,” she mumbles into his mouth, laughing a little. “Feisty.” He’s grinning, too, as he lets her panties fall to the carpet. 

“Any requests?” he asks, just cupping his hand against her mound at first to feel the warmth and the shape of her, the soft thatch of hair under his palm and the bit of wetness already noticeable where his fingertips brush the join of her inner thighs. 

“Fuck. Go super light at first. Nothing inside until I’ve come at least once. I’ll tell you when I need more—ah!—pressure.” 

His grin goes wide at her reaction when he curls his fingers so that they brush feather-light over her mostly-protected clit, teasing lightly furred skin. His other hand drops from the back of her head to her thigh, tugging to guide her legs a little further apart, bracketed inside his knees. The extra bit of room then lets him adjust to reach further back, gently petting along the length of her outer lips and hungrily absorbing her reactions as she gaps and whimpers with her forehead pressed to his. 

“Fuck, yeah. That’s good,” Darcy whispers, bracing her forearms on his shoulders. She tilts and rocks a little as he keeps petting between her legs, but not enough to interrupt his rhythm.

“Love this,” Steve admits in a low murmur when a little more warm fluid seeps over his fingers. And he really does—loves the way he can feel it like this when he’s doing it right, how open and responsive she is. She’s beautiful, too, eyes closed and mouth slightly open as he coaxes her body into pleasure. She lifts her head and he kisses her throat, nuzzling a bit at her lightly-perfumed skin.

“Shit, Steve, harder now.” He puts more direct pressure on her clit in response, and she reaches down, adjusts his fingers a bit, pulling her folds apart and guiding him into the rhythm she wants. Then she lets him have at it, returning herself to her braced position with her hips tilting back a bit and her back arching. He captures her mouth in a messy kiss, and he’s gratified to feel how she falters with little moans and jerks, kissing him back actively for a few moments at a time and then letting her mouth go slack as she gets too caught up in her own pleasure. He loves that, sucking on her lower lip and giving her clit a deep, firm massage as the slickness against his fingers gathers enough to alleviate any painful friction. Her moans get louder and more strung together, and then she’s suddenly gasping out “mother _ fucker _ ” as her body jerks against his and her nails bite into the back of his neck. He maintains the desperate rhythm of his fingers until she’s gasping for mercy, and then gradually slows and softens, still rubbing her gently as her body goes loose and he has to use the other arm to give her some support. 

“Jesus, Rogers,” Darcy laughs, somehow climbing up onto his lap without completely dislodging his hand. He brings his legs together as much as he can with his dick very much making itself known in the confines of his dress slacks, and she balances up on her knees straddling them. “Mmm, yeah, that’s real good,” she mutters, rolling her hips in slow undulating movements now, her hands on his shoulders keeping her balanced. 

“Yeah?” Steve’s voice is a bit hoarse, and he knows he’s staring up at her like she contains the secrets to the universe, but her eyes are closed and her head tipped back again. Her clit feels swollen, trapped between his fingers, and he can actually feel her blood pulsing in the tissue as he rubs it. He’s also only human, and can’t resist the temptation to press his face into her tits as he’s now perfectly level with them.

“Yeah,” Darcy groans in agreement, scratching at his scalp with one hand. “Fuck, why are we still wearing clothes?” she laughs, but it’s a fragmented sound, breathless, as the movements of her hips speed up. He doesn’t answer, just starts to work his fingers faster in tandem with her cues, and soon enough she’s tumbling over the edge again, clit throbbing as he presses firmly against it, fluid spilling onto and between his fingers. 

“Okay, okay,” she laughs this time. “That’s good. Break.” Obligingly, if a little reluctant, he takes his hand back, out from under the folds of her dress, but definitely makes eye contact as he sucks his own fingers clean. She grins and shoves him onto his back, reaching back to tug down her zip and then pulling the whole number up over her head. She’s stunning, naked from the waist down with a lacy black bra cupping her frankly remarkable breasts, and Steve’s aware he’s staring like a smitten schoolboy. 

“You, too. Too many fucking clothes,” Darcy complains, unbuckling his belt for him, tossing it off to the side. 

“Careful,” Steve warns, holding out a hand as she reaches for his zip, but she just giggles and bats his hand away.

“Don’t worry, Captain, your predicament is quite obvious,” Darcy teases, and indeed she exercises care in getting his fly undone, tugging at the slacks as he lifts his hips. “I’m taking it as a compliment, by the way.”

“You definitely should,” he agrees, and decides that he really likes how playful and easy it is between them, the little adorable scrunch her face makes when she realizes he’s still wearing socks and shoes. Once she’s dealt with the lot of it, though, Darcy crawls back up the bed and gives him a gentle squeeze through the black boxer-briefs that are just barely keeping his dick contained, and he can’t hold back the little jerk of his hips up off the mattress. 

“Christ, sweetheart.” 

She grins at him, then ducks her head and licks a line up his abs to his sternum. “Big dick energy, indeed,” she teases, rubbing a little with the flat of her hand through his underwear.

“I thought…” he sucks in a little breath when her tongue finds his nipple. “...thought… you said that didn’t actually mean you were actually thinking about my dick.”

“Honey, just assume I’m always thinking about your dick,” she retorts, sucking hard enough to make him groan. Then her head pops up and she’s smiling like she’s got him right in her pocket and she knows it. Another squeeze. “Comfortable?”

“I’m not sure that’s the word I would use…”

Darcy snickers, then leans over him and stretches until she can just reach the nightstand drawer, fishing a condom out of it. “I know you can’t transmit anything, but this is less messy and I don’t trust the pill 100%, so, non-negotiable.”

“Sure,” he nods, blinking and trying to bring his brain back online. “Whatever feels good for you.” 

“Right answer.” She smiles and tosses the condom onto the bed next to him, and they just kiss for a while as he shrugs out of his shirt, unhooks her bra, and gets her situated lying on top of him. He’s still wearing his goddamned underwear, but he actually doesn’t hate the way it holds him snug as her wet pussy just barely drags against the fabric, and her thighs rub this way and that as she squirms in his arms. 

“Almost ready,” Darcy sighs against his mouth after they’ve been kissing for a while, her voice soft and sounding a little endorphin-high. “I’d rather be on top, if that’s all right.”

“Great,” he agrees, his hands holding her waist and his thumbs caressing her skin. Honestly, she could tell him that her favorite position was the Pirouetting Elephant at this point, and he’d figure it out, but probably that enthusiasm is obvious enough from her perspective. When she finally drags his underwear down over his hips, his dick actually springs to attention, and he has the good grace to blush just a bit. She just grins and rolls the condom down over it, straddling his lap and holding the tip to her entrance. 

“This is gonna take me a minute, big boy. Just relax and I’ll let you know when I’m good.”

He laughs a little at that, threading his hands behind his head. “Relax, yep, I’m super relaxed.” She winks at him and he enjoys the show as she stretches herself a bit with her fingers, then rubs the head of his cock up and down a little until fluid is running over it and damn if that isn’t the hottest thing, watching her pleasure herself with his body. She works it in slowly, with little gasps and lip-bites that have Steve clenching his hands together hard against the urge to just flip her over and shove himself in, because a) he’s not a monster and b) she’s not a super soldier and c) he does actually have  _ some _ patience, no matter what a certain James Barnes might have to say on the matter. Darcy’s truly captivating, though, and when she finally gets mostly seated and starts to slowly work herself on his cock, he can’t help but reach for her again. His hands grip at her hips just shy of hard enough to bruise, and she gives him a saucy look as she starts to find a rhythm, enough force to make her breasts bounce. She braces her hands on his chest, and he slides his feet up to plant them firmly on the mattress, bent knees giving her some extra stability. He keeps his eyes locked with hers when he thrusts up with his hips, just a couple of experimental inches, and she bites her own lip hard in response, her eyes flashing with heat. 

“Fuck, yeah, okay, new plan,” Darcy groans. “Screw me doing the work.” 

He laughs and does it again, a bit harder, groaning at the way she clenches around him. It’s frantic after that, Darcy holding herself mostly still at the angle that works best for her and Steve using the strength of his thighs to thrust up into her body, neck straining for sloppy kisses that are mostly just open mouths rubbing against each other as they both chase their release. He means to let her come first, he really quite honestly does, but his orgasm takes him by surprise and suddenly he’s gasping out her name, fingers digging into her hips. For her part, Darcy doesn’t even blink, just reaches a hand down and is jerking herself to a final climax before he can quite catch his breath, still sitting on his cock. The way her muscles spasm around him is almost too much, but then she’s slumping down onto his chest and he’s holding her close, dealing with the condom as gracefully as he can before they both fall into a fucked-out haze. In truth, it’s nothing close to as physically strenuous as what he’s used to with Bucky, but he doesn’t feel any less blissfully delirious in the wake of it. Her warm weight and the sound of her gradually slowing breathing are soothing to Steve, and as he brushes shaky fingers down her spine, he feels all the residual tension slowly leaving his body.

~*~

“So do you two… tango? And if so, can I watch?”

Steve blinks at Darcy, totally taken aback by the question. It’s not what he expected from morning-after conversation, as he’s making her pancakes in her own kitchen and casually chatting about Bucky (as all conversations seem to make it back around to his best friend, eventually.)

“Uh… I have no idea. I’d have to ask. I mean… about the watching. We do… I mean we are…” Darcy laughs, and Steve gives up on elaborating in favor of sliding another pancake onto her plate. “Have I mentioned I’m no good with girls?”

“After last night, I’d say you’re a damned liar, Steven, but I take your point. And it’s cool if the answer is ‘hell no,’ I’m just saying, sounds hot, would be into it, if the opportunity ever pops up. For the record.”   

“Right. For the record.” He smiles, pours more batter into the pan. “Honestly, it’s not really… well it didn’t used to be, something we did around other people. And now… I guess it is? Some. But it depends on what you’re talking about, exactly. Sex, or exchange, or what. Either way, we haven’t had an  _ audience _ , just extra participants.” 

“Fair. And honestly, I mean whatever you’d be comfortable with. I’d totally watch the two of you make out and probably pop a ladyboner right away. Is it weird for you, that I think he’s hot?” 

Steve snorts at that, shaking his head. “No. I clearly agree with you. And he was… real popular with the ladies, when we were younger. I’m more surprised you asked me first,” he admits, glad his back is to her so she can’t see his cheeks coloring yet again.

“You’re hot, and also adorable. And I didn’t ask you out, you asked me out, remember?”

“Well… but you asked me… for coffee.”

She bursts out laughing, and he smiles to himself as he flips the pancakes. “That I did, Captain. That I certainly did…”

~*~

A few days after their date, Steve invites Darcy over to hang out and have a beer with himself and Bucky. He hasn’t exactly brought up her question with Bucky yet, but Bucky’s teased him enough about his new crush, and he’s easy enough about the suggestion of hanging out with her more. “She’s cute, Steve. And she makes you look like a bursting tomato, which is obviously a bonus…”

“Oh yeah. This is definitely better than wrangling scientists,” Darcy declares when she’s parked on their sofa, putting her bare feet up on the coffee table and taking the beer Bucky’s popped open for her with his metal hand. She winks at Bucky, and rather than coloring a bit pink like Steve would, he just grins back, all Barnes swagger.

“What d’you do for Foster, anyway?” he asks, taking a seat next to Darcy so that Steve ends up in the armchair, not wanting to be too obvious by just plopping himself down on her other side.

“Wrangling. Seriously.” Darcy rolls her eyes, taking a sip of her beer. “Jane’s brilliant, but she doesn’t exactly score high marks on executive function outside of her job. I feed and water her and make sure she sleeps occasionally. And I keep her notes organized and let her bounce ideas off of me, even if I have no idea what the fuck she’s talking about. Otherwise I do travel logistics and apply for grants. It doesn’t have anything to do with my field, but she kind of absorbed me, and I get paid,” she explains with a shrug. “So it’s better than trying to hunt down another job in this market.”

“And you said scientists, plural?” Bucky asks, tucking one leg up under himself so that he’s turned towards her on the sofa, one arm over the back not touching her but familiar nonetheless. It’s been a while since Steve witnessed Bucky’s game like this, and it makes him smile a little to himself. “You work for other people besides Doctor Foster?”

“Well no, not officially. But Tony can’t find his ass from his earlobe when he’s on a science bender, and Bruce is the same way. I guess I kind of adopt them when Jane’s working with the Avengers. I do that with strays,” Darcy smiles sheepishly. 

“Yeah?” Bucky smirks, flicking his eyes over towards Steve. “No wonder you and Steve get along.” 

“Shut up.” Steve rolls his eyes. “I don’t take in strays, I’m  _ friendly _ .”

“You used to feed actual cats in the alley when we could barely afford food for our _ selves _ , Rogers.”

“Ah, shit,” Steve makes a face. “I didn’t think you remembered that.”

“Busted!” Bucky crows, and the delight on his face, plus Darcy’s giggle, is definitely worth being called out. “Seriously, this kid barely weighed in at a hundred pounds soaking wet and he was bound and determined to be everyone else’s mother. It’s no wonder he ended up exchanging with so many soldiers once he got big… I practically had to tie him to the bed when he was real sick, to get him to stop worrying about the wellbeing of half the block and focus on his own self.” 

“Yeah?” Darcy grins, mischievous and familiar now, since Steve’s spent some time with her. “Gotta say, I don’t hate that mental image.” 

For his part, Bucky just laughs, shakes his head. “Don’t get too excited, doll. He was coughing up his lungs half the time, not so sexy.”

“He’s not coughing up his lungs now though, is he?” Darcy’s smile is sly, her eyes sliding over to him and then back to Bucky. “Seriously, indulge a girl in her fantasies.” 

Bucky’s laugh is soft, and he doesn’t seem overly bothered by the insinuation. “Sure,” he agrees, boldly letting his fingers drift over to twine in her hair a bit. “But bondage isn’t really a factor in our relationship, doll. Sorry to disappoint you.” 

“Nah, it’s all good. I guess it’s weird for you, too, like, welcome to the twenty-first century, here’s a woman who hooked up with your BFF and gets turned on by boys kissing! The future is freaky.”

Bucky snickers, winding a strand of hair around his fingers. “Not really. Or… not any different from before. People liked a lot of things back then, too. I knew a dame whose favorite thing in bed was hearing about how I wanted to fuck someone else. She just liked to listen to these dirty stories, and the power would flow out of her just like that whenever I got to talking. Strange. But kind of hot.” 

“James Barnes, didn’t your mama ever tell you not to kiss and tell?” Steve chides, though Darcy seems rather amused by the story and he’s a little warm from it himself. 

“Whatever, Rogers, that woman’s dead and gone God rest her soul, I don’t think the rules apply. ‘Sides, it’s just an example.”

Darcy laughs. “I take your point, anyway. People are freaky in every decade.” 

“Yep. Definitions just change, that’s all. Not everything’s taboo the same way it was, but then some things people your generation get your panties in a twist about that were pretty normal to us. And me…” Bucky shrugs, takes a pull from his beer. “Not to get morbid, doll, but the things I’ve done, the things I’ve seen, I’m  _ really _ not gonna judge anyone for what they like in bed.”

“Point taken.” Darcy’s tone is a little softer, at that, and she finishes off her bottle before tilting her head a bit, nuzzling at Bucky’s wrist. “Would you get me another beer, James?”

“Course,” he agrees, and gives her cheek a little rub with his thumb before pushing up off the sofa, heading into their kitchen. When Bucky’s back is turned, Steve raises his eyebrows at her, and she just grins. 

_ Hot _ , Darcy mouths, and Steve can’t do much but smile, because, well, yeah. He certainly doesn’t disagree. When Bucky returns, he leans across the coffee table to pass her the beer, but stays on Steve’s side, leaning on one arm atop the wingback of his chair. 

“So, Stevie,” he drawls, and oh boy, there’s that shit-eating tone that Steve can deny absolutely nothing to, and Bucky knows it. “Sounds like the lady would like a show.” 

“Yeah,” Steve agrees, noticing the way Darcy swallows hard, her eyes widening a little. “It would appear that way.” He’s pretty sure despite her outrageous flirtations, she didn’t actually think it was going anywhere, and admittedly Steve’s slightly surprised, but he’s not gonna say it. “You up for it?”

“I’m up for a bit,” Bucky concedes, enough to warn Steve that he’s maybe not going to full on give power in front of her, but he’s willing enough to play. “Seems a shame not to give the lady what she wants.”

“Definitely a shame,” Darcy agrees with a little cough, settling back against the sofa, her eyes on Bucky like she wants to eat him for breakfast. “The lady agrees.” 

Bucky laughs and comes around to the front of Steve’s chair, leaning down over him and slotting one knee in outside Steve’s thigh. The way it’s angled, she’ll be able to see well enough, and that’s about all the thought Steve spares for staging or their audience before Bucky starts kissing him, deep and dirty, one big hand caressing his face. He registers a soft little sound of approval from Darcy, but Bucky’s quickly invading his senses, and he hurriedly moves his beer to the floor so that he can get both his hands on his partner, one slipping up under Bucky’s t-shirt in the back and finding the line of his spine. Bucky shivers predictably as Steve strokes him there, but he doesn’t give in fully to the kiss, still licking into Steve’s mouth and trading for control as they go. He’s riled up enough that Steve actually wonders if Darcy watching them like this is a specific turn-on, and how he possibly had missed one of Bucky’s kinks after this many years—or whether this is something new, since his time away. For his part, Steve doesn’t much care why Bucky’s so enthusiastic, but he’ll definitely take it, the kind of battle for dominance and the way Bucky doesn’t hesitate with him, sliding his flesh hand from Steve’s face to his hair and then tugging hard. Steve reaches up and grabs Bucky’s arm, just to feel the cords of muscle in his bicep, and whimpers a bit when Bucky tugs on Steve’s bottom lip with his teeth. 

“Jesus fuck,” Darcy mutters, and they both turn to her at that, Steve licking his lips when he sees how she’s perhaps unconsciously got the glass bottle pressed up between her legs. Bucky’s giving her a very naughty smile, and Steve hides his smirk against Bucky’s neck, kissing the skin there and sucking little bites up to the stubbled line of his jaw.

“Do we pass muster?” Bucky teases, his hand still tight in Steve’s hair and sending little sparks of pain down Steve’s spine from his scalp.

“Hell to the yes,” Darcy agrees, and then just because he’s a little shit, Steve bites down hard just under Bucky’s jaw, and the other man arcs with pain, head falling back and a little gasp falling from his lips. He’s holding back from actual exchange, for the most part, but the slightest bit of a spark jumps between them despite it, and Bucky growls at him, climbing all the way into Steve’s lap and twisting so their mouths are lined up again. Steve loses the thread again as Bucky kisses him deep, metal fingertips caressing at his throat, but he’s not so insistent on taking over control that he doesn’t moan when Steve’s hand clenches at his ass, fingers teasing at his hole even through two layers of fabric. Nor does he complain when Steve grabs hard at the back of his neck, a high thready whimper brushing over Steve’s lips. 

“Stevie,” he whispers, and Steve just smiles, eyes meeting Bucky’s with both a softness and an intensity. 

“I’ve got you, Buck,” he murmurs, and Bucky initiates another kiss, but this one softer, lingering, the tension in his muscles going a little more lax as he melts in Steve’s arms. They kiss like that for maybe ten minutes, maybe fifteen, before Bucky seemingly remembers that there’s a third person in the room and looks up, blinking and bleary, smile a little sheepish. 

“Hey. Sorry, he’s distracting like that.” 

Darcy laughs, shakes her head, and seems to suddenly remember that beer is for drinking and not just DIY clitoral pressure through her jeans, as she takes a big gulp from the bottle. “This is me not even a little bit complaining, boys. You’re beautiful. Both of you,” she declares, and her tone is so soft and fond that Steve has to hide his face in Bucky’s shoulder for a moment. 

“Maybe not the best company, though,” Bucky jokes, shifting so that he’s sitting sideways in Steve’s lap, legs over the arm of the chair. They really don’t fit this way, it’s a ridiculous squash, but Steve doesn’t complain. 

“I mean.” Darcy makes a kind of uninterpretable gesture at them, then takes another sip of beer and grins. “If you want me to leave you two alone now, I won’t be offended.”

“No, it’s okay,” Bucky smiles, all soft and pliant now. “I really  _ did _ want to get to know you better. And I guess, now I know—you like me necking with Steve. Kinda convenient. I like that, too,” he beams, and she snorts a little. 

“I mean, to be fair, same,” Darcy says. “He’s a good kisser.”

“Good at a lot of things,” Bucky teases, and Steve flicks at his shoulder just because he can.

“You’re not wrong.” Darcy runs the lip of her bottle against her lower lip for a moment, clearly considering something, though Steve’s just trying really hard not to have ungentlemanly thoughts about her mouth. “You know… if you two wanted to top me, sometime, I’d be into that.”

Steve’s eyebrows jump up, because he honestly wasn’t expecting that. “Together?”

“Yeah,” she smiles. “I wasn’t sure about you,” she admits, pointing her bottle at Bucky. “But… maybe this is weird, but seeing how you go down for him makes me more interested in going down for you.”

“Really?” Bucky asks. “I mean… that wasn’t much, right there.” 

“No, I know. But you two going at each other is pretty hot,” Darcy grins. “I kind of vibe on two alpha-types together, but like, usually in reality getting a couple of men like that in my bed means a bunch of arrogance and bullshittery about no touching each other and I’m not even comfortable enough to fuck ‘em, let alone give power. That’s my choice, obviously, about the power exchange, but a few men have been known to overstay their welcome in the sex department, or just be assholes when they’re done.” She shrugs. “I can tell that neither of you are like that. I already knew about Steve, but you, uh… kind of have a reputation.”

Bucky laughs and jabs Steve in the side, pulling him out of the mental spiral he’s about to sink into over these so-called alphas Darcy’s describing in her past. “What’re you telling people about me, punk?”

“Nothing that ain’t true, jerk,” Steve mutters automatically. “And she’s not lyin’, you were such a ladies’ man…”

“Sure, but I treated ‘em right,” Bucky grouses, and Steve can’t disagree with that.

“True. Lotta girls coming back for seconds,” Steve grins at Darcy. “Might be worth finding out why…”

Darcy just laughs at him. “You’re a little minx, Rogers, even in that frankly ridiculous body. And I’m not offering for right now, just to be clear, I’d have to be a little more prepared for it. But if you two wanted to make a date, I’d be into it.” She picks at the label on her bottle a bit. “To be honest, I don’t exchange much. I like it, but it takes a lot of trust. Sex, sure, that’s easy, I like that I can get laid when I want to and for the most part the people I hang out with don’t have too much to say about it… but if I’m gonna give power, or take it, for that matter, I need to know that it’s okay to be vulnerable with you. I really enjoy it, but… that’s a thing.”

“We’d never want to do anything with you that you didn’t want, Darcy,” Steve assures her, low and earnest. Even just hearing her talk about her experiences makes him want to simultaneously crush anyone who ever took advantage and be better for her, in whatever way he can.

“I know.” Darcy smiles. “I do want. But maybe we can make a night of it?”

“Take you out on the town first?” Bucky grins. “I’ve got a radius, for security, but maybe we could find someplace that does dancing nearby.”

“Oh no,” Steve grumbles. “You are not making me look like an asshole just to impress a pretty girl, Buck, that’s dirty pool.” 

Darcy looks delighted at that. “What? You can’t dance?”

“It’s comically bad,” Bucky affirms. “But  _ I  _ like dancing. Steve can watch.”

“Seems fair,” Darcy agrees, smirking at him. “Steve should get a turn to watch.” And just like that, he’s flushing all over, hiding his face against Bucky again. The two of them talking about him like he’s not there, that  _ shouldn’t _ be hot, but.

“I think we have a plan, then,” Bucky declares, petting at the back of Steve’s head. “Anything special you’d want us to be prepared for?”

“Not really. I can take care of my own damn self, I don’t need you to be all nurturing and shit in the morning. But I’d like to stay the night. And just… that you understand it’s a vulnerable thing. And if you fuck with that, I’ll end you. Or Thor will.”

“We won’t,” Bucky promises. “Though Thor is a pretty effective deterrent,” he laughs, as Steve lifts his head again.

“Right?! Best bro ever.”

“We’ll take good care of you, Darcy,” Steve promises, and then corrects himself. “Or… as much as you want us to. Uh, sorry.”

She laughs and waves him off with one hand. “It’s fine. I get that you’re who you are, Steve. I just don’t do patriarchal condescension, and some dudes are into that. It’s kind of insulting that some men still assume that women can’t, like, take power ourselves, or be a provider, like power exchange has anything to do with gender, and then they’re all posturing as super caretakers to get a woman interested and it just comes across infantilizing and weird. You can get me water and pet my hair if we’re playing, I just don’t like assumptions. I really do like going down for someone, but it’s complicated.”

Steve nods, rubbing at the fabric of Bucky’s jeans with his fingers. “I definitely wouldn’t assume that it’s what you like, just because you’re female. I mean… all of the people I’ve taken care of, like that, are men, so.”

“And I learned pretty early on that a woman will smack you just as hard as a man will punch you if you’re being an asshole,” Bucky grins. 

“To be fair, you learned that from your mama, way before you ever took power from anyone,” Steve snickers, and Bucky just shrugs. “You know…” Steve offers, the idea popping into his head suddenly but with conviction. “If you ever wanted to… with me… if you ever wanted to take power from me, we could try.” It’s a little hard to say, just because she’s so gorgeous, and he’s really blushing now, but she looks interested. Bucky tenses a bit under him, but not from objection, Steve’s pretty sure, just surprise. 

“Really? You do that?”

“Not often. It’s… hard to let go,” Steve admits, appreciating the soothing way Bucky squeezes his hand as he explains. “But I don’t know, I think you might be able to bring it out in me. It might not work, but I’d be willing to try.” 

“Damn. Well hey there, cowboy,” Darcy smirks, and this time when Steve tries to hide Bucky just grabs him by the hair and forces his head up. With Darcy’s eyes warm and interested on him, the whole act of preserving his dignity is obviously a lost cause.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Don’t pull back,” Steve says, his voice just as low but rougher now. “I’ll let you know when you’re allowed to breathe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, this one was hard to write because I didn't want it to feel inevitable, or like Steve is "saving" Tony or bringing him "back to normal" or anything like that. I'm personally kind of adamant that wanting something occasionally doesn't mean you're lying to yourself about the rest of the time. So this really is a one-off, not a change in the status quo. Tony's happy with his way of relating to people, and he doesn't give a fuck what anyone else thinks about it. But I'd been toying with writing this scene for a while, and so I decided to go with it. Hope you enjoy!

Tony’s used to exhaustion. He’s used to stress. He likes to say that it makes him better, even if he knows he’s lying to himself. Usually, Bruce is there to call him on his bullshit, but Bruce is just as tired this time. It’s been weeks, and between the pair of them and Dr. Foster, they’ve collectively invented several new branches of astrophysics just to figure out this fucking portal.

And the portal still doesn’t  _ do _ anything, which Tony both hates and feels gratitude for in equal measure to the dread trickling down his spine whenever he thinks of what’s  _ out there _ , which he honestly tries not to do. Reaching for the stars, certainly, has always been his thing, but now it’s strictly figurative. Portals to other galaxies, other planes of reality, maybe, make him twitchy.

When they finally figure out how to close it, the whole thing is incredibly anticlimactic. The whole team is poised for a fight, for resistance, waiting in their stealth suits against the black of night, and then the scientists calibrate the device and they turn it on and… nothing. A boring-ass field in the middle of nowhere, two more hours of taking readings just to be sure, and Steve filling in an after-action report on the Quinjet that’s pointless because there wasn’t any action. Jane asks to stay for at least another week or two, so she can use his labs and their brains in writing up their research, and of course Tony agrees. They get back to the Tower, he gets six hours of sleep, and then he pops back up again, brain confused at the prolonged stress without any real way to burn it off. He needs a reset. 

He goes to Bruce’s room.

“Tony… ‘msleeping,” Bruce mumbles, batting it off when he tries to climb in behind the scientist, spooning him from behind.

“We can sleep together.” 

“Not with you fidgeting, we can’t,” Bruce complains, pushing Tony’s hand away when his fingers start tapping on Bruce’s hip. “Tony. I love you. And I want to be alone. For at least a few days.” He mumbles that into his pillow, but Tony knows he’s serious. Bruce needs his space. He’d  _ promised _ that he wouldn’t interfere with that.

“All right,” he sighs, rolling back to the edge of the bed and gaining his feet. “Sorry.” 

Bruce is already asleep.

~*~

Tony tries fucking around with a motorcycle engine. He tries inventing new kitchen gadgets, tries video games, even. He tries annoying Sam Wilson, but even that quickly gets old. The restlessness in his head keeps trying to resolve into memories of black, yawning space, vast but not  _ empty. _ It keeps reminding him of the duty that goes with his genius, and he doesn’t want to go there. How can he be simultaneously so keyed up and so tired?

And then he gets an idea, and it keeps at him like a bad itch.

_ No way _ , is his first, kneejerk reaction. He’d sworn, never again, not after everything he went through, the greatest betrayal of his life and a near-death experience to boot. 

But the idea keeps worming into his brain, coming up with reasons to make an exception. He keeps thinking of Steve, warm and patient, Steve’s laugh and the way everyone gravitates towards him like a solitary star. There’s an edge of antagonism between them, always, and yet… Steve is loyal. Steve can keep a secret. Steve has it engrained so deeply in him to want to  _ help. _

And Tony just wants to  _ rest _ .

He goes a day, a night, and most of another day without sleep. He crashes for a while, after that, but it’s fitful. He tries to work, and nothing holds his focus. Finally, he admits defeat, and tells JARVIS to tell Steve to meet Tony in the penthouse. Sure enough, Steve’s there within ten minutes, earnest and eager to help with whatever Tony needs. He’s silent for a long minute, and then he closes his eyes, lets some of the tension in his shoulders release. 

“I need you to take care of things, just for a while. I’m about to  _ fracture _ , it’s too much…” Tony sighs, opens his eyes and sees Steve watching him with concern and confusion. “I need to go down.  _ Hard _ . I trust you.”

“Oh,” Steve exhales, his eyes widening. 

“You can’t tell  _ anyone _ I asked you for this,” Tony warns, his tone harsh, eyes sharp on Steve. “It’s a one-time request. You can’t even bring it up again. I don’t want you to ask any questions about why I don’t, or why I stopped, or why I’m asking now. If those terms don’t work for you, forget I ever said anything.”

Steve is still for a long moment, watching Tony, and then something shifts in his posture, in his gaze. He crosses the gap between them, voice low and steady. “I accept your terms. Do you have other limits I should know about? Sex? Pain?”

Tony’s breath hitches, even though the questions are simple and he feels like a fucking  _ idiot _ for how they affect him. “I don’t want to be in charge of anything. I don’t want to make decisions. Sex works if you want it. Pain… can be good.”  _ Complicated _ , but he doesn’t want to explain, just wants Steve to  _ do _ . “Nothing in the bath or the shower. No humiliation.”

“No,” Steve murmurs, soft and serious. “I wouldn’t. Not when you’re so…”

“What?” Tony asks, his tone a sudden challenge, and Steve raises his eyebrows.

“Any more limits?”

“No.”

“Not when you’re so  _ good _ ,” Steve finishes, stepping right into Tony’s bubble and grasping the back of Tony’s neck. He feels a sudden rush of anger, shame, uncertainty.

“I’m not…”

“Shh. My rules, now,” Steve cuts him off, and before he can argue, Steve’s mouth is on his, overwhelming him. It’s just  _ kissing _ , Tony thinks, mildly annoyed with himself. But this kind of contact, it’s been a while for him, and it’s intense because that’s Steve’s only setting. His other hand presses to the small of Tony’s back, sealing their bodies together, and the hand on Tony’s neck squeezes in a way that’s just right, so right in a way he  _ doesn’t want it to be _ but can’t actually deny. He whimpers into Steve’s kiss, shaking hands grasping Steve’s waist. 

“I’d like you on your knees,” Steve declares when their mouths separate. Not an order, far more polite than Tony’s ever had on this side of the power equation, but Steve’s voice is half an octave deeper than usual and it’s also not a question. His confidence should piss Tony off but instead it makes him  _ want, _ and he slides down Steve’s body before he can think too hard about it, still holding Steve’s waist for balance. When his knees meet the carpet, Steve’s hands cover his, press for a moment, then slide to his wrists, gripping underhand so that his fingers cover Tony’s pulse. His blood throbs against Steve’s fingertips and Tony stares up at him, waiting. 

“Good boy,” is what Steve murmurs, a smile on his lips, and Tony’s brain considers protest, but then Steve unzips his fly and eases out a half-chub that’s… well…  _ proportionate _ . Tony swallows hard, and licks his lips before he can stop himself. And then Steve’s slowly feeding Tony his cock, and that’s just a whole  _ thing _ . He might wrestle with the concept of submission, of giving power even when he needs to, but wanting to suck Steve’s dick is a far more comfortable concept. His taste is pleasant, a warm musk, and the feeling of it growing in his mouth as he sucks is a heady experience. Tony closes his eyes, loses himself to the task, and before he knows it, Steve’s hand is on the back of his neck, helping him take a full erection into his throat.

“Don’t pull back,” Steve says, his voice just as low but rougher now. “I’ll let you know when you’re allowed to breathe.”

And  _ that _ , suddenly, has practically all the power just  _ flooding _ out of him, Tony’s body going almost limp, only his grip on Steve’s hips keeping him up. Steve doesn’t even blink, just presses Tony’s head in place and slowly lowers to his own knees, back a step so that Tony can fold forward and support himself on his hands, then all the way down when Steve sits back on his heels. Steve lets him up for a breath, then, curled over Steve’s lap, arms loosely hugging his unfairly hard thighs. But just as quickly he’s guiding Tony down again, hand tight in his hair. Tony’s throat relaxes naturally as he sinks into his own submission, balanced between the floor and Steve’s grip, basically cuddling his partner with a throat full of cock. His thoughts are hazy, disjointed, not quite  _ empty _ but blissfully non-urgent. It’s easily as good as the best he’s had, and Steve’s just getting started.  _ No wonder he keeps so many people happy _ , floats through the back of Tony’s mind as Steve tugs him up to allow another gulp of air. He’s kind of dizzy, but the limited oxygen seems unimportant. 

“That’s it, Tony,” Steve murmurs, scritching at the back of his neck with the hand that’s not directing him. “So sweet on my dick.”

_ Captain Rogers _ ! a hysterical part of his brain thinks, while the rest of him just melts into it. Steve lets him for a few more breaths, then pulls him up, into Steve’s lap, twisting him around so that Tony’s sitting with his back to Steve’s chest, Steve leaning against the wall.  _ There’s a wall there _ , Tony thinks distantly, his head tipping back and his eyes falling closed when Steve pets over his throat. 

“Good boy,” Steve murmurs, warm and amused. “Still with me? Want more?”

“ _ More _ ,” Tony agrees. Steve’s hands are at the hem of his t-shirt, then, rucking it up under his armpits, and fingers find Tony’s nipples with a sudden, sharp twist.

“Steve!” Tony shouts, arching back against him, the bolt of pain coursing through his body and waking him up. 

“Good boy,” Steve purrs again, directly in his ear. “See what you can take for me.” He releases the twist, but keeps rubbing, pinching  _ hard _ at Tony’s nipples. Tony groans softly, squirms a little and feels Steve’s cock rubbing against his ass through the barrier of his jeans. “Does that hurt?” Steve teases, earning a little whine out of Tony, and then a loud cry when he bites down at the join of neck and shoulder. Tony hisses, on the edge of  _ too much _ , when Steve suddenly releases his jaw and laps over the stinging bite mark with his tongue, fingers caressing Tony’s nipples more gently.

“Yes,” Tony whispers, and Steve chuckles, nipping his earlobe.

“Good. It’s supposed to.” He reaches lower, unzipping Tony’s jeans, cupping his erection through his underwear. “Can I hurt your cock?” he murmurs, so sweet in Tony’s ear, and he gasps a little, nods. Something about the way Steve says it makes him  _ want _ , crosses the signals in his brain. And Steve’s not vicious, not like some had been in Tony’s checkered past. He pushes Tony’s jeans and his briefs down to his thighs, and when Tony’s cock is free, he slaps it, just enough to sting, to make Tony gasp. He does it again, a touch harder, but then he licks his palm and wraps his big hand around the length of it, and Tony moans in disbelief. It feels  _ better _ , like that, more present, and he doesn’t complain when Steve grips a little too hard, works him a little too rough. He whimpers, rocking his hips, and Steve rewards him with a pleased hum. 

“Good boy,” Steve whispers, squeezing Tony’s balls in one hand. He cries out, arches, then settles again, trusting Steve. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes,” Tony murmurs, surprised when he blinks and a few tears cloud his vision. 

“Let’s get you into the bed, then. I want you comfortable,” Steve says, and though Tony would normally be rolling his eyes, shrugging off that bit of care, in this state he takes it easily, lets Steve help him up and strip him down the rest of the way, manhandle him into his own bed and onto his belly, a couple of pillows under his hips and one under his cheek. “Gorgeous,” Steve declares, slowly trailing the back of his hand over Tony’s spine from neck to asshole. Tony shivers and another bit of power lazily releases, abandoning his body for Steve’s. He feels warm and relaxed and doesn’t flinch at all when Steve finds his hole with slick fingers, rubbing soothing circles there. 

He  _ does _ flinch when Steve takes a sizeable bite out of his left ass cheek, but the resulting release of tension after he clenches up helps Steve’s index finger to slide inside, and Tony blushes as he lets a little moan slip free. 

“So damned beautiful,” Steve praises, stroking Tony from the inside as the other hand finds the back of his neck again, holding him down. The firm grip, paradoxically, helps him to relax, and he zones out a little as Steve keeps working him open, grasping the shape of Steve’s words but not the meaning. His low voice is soothing, sure, and Tony opens up to him easily, feeling heavy and calm. His cock presents more of a challenge, but Tony’s still easy for it, groaning into his pillow and tilting his hips just an inch or two. Steve bears down on him, relentless, but he’s still careful not to put too much weight on Tony’s chest. Even if Tony can’t focus much on that detail, it keeps the ease he feels firmly in place, letting Steve do the work as if his only job right now is just to relax and be fucked. 

“Sweet thing,” Steve murmurs, fully seated, kissing the nape of Tony’s neck before he kneels up and grips him by the hips, lifting his body into the perfect angle. Steve takes the weight easily, and Tony just sinks into his grip, moaning as Steve fucks him. The adjustment means that his cock doesn’t rub against the pillows quite as hard, but Steve’s thick enough to thoroughly work his prostate, and orgasm feels less urgent, anyway, when he’s floating like this. Steve keeps muttering praise, fucking him harder, and Tony lets himself dissolve into his component parts, riding the high that’s better than anything liquor ever gave him. After Steve comes, he pulls Tony up into his arms, back onto his thighs, and strokes him off still half-hard inside him. He whispers sweet things into Tony’s ear and makes him hold off just a few painful seconds before he’s allowed release, one big hand gently holding his throat. 

There are little flickers of awareness then, as Steve lowers him down onto his side, wipes him clean, tucks him in. But mostly, it’s just a final wave of relaxation, a calm Tony’s so desperately needed, that pulls him deep and ultimately into a dreamless sleep.

~*~

“Does it do anything for you?” Tony asks, still a little loopy, after a very long nap. He wouldn’t normally let Captain America linger in his bed, but he’s still feeling soft and sweet and Steve doesn’t demand anything of him. “Taking power?”

Steve stares at him like he’s completely lost his mind. “You think that didn’t  _ do _ anything for me?” he exclaims, sounding almost offended. Tony giggles at him, he can’t help it. 

“Physically, I mean. It’s not really fair, is it? That you take from so many people but you don’t actually  _ need  _ it.” Tony’s tone is gentle enough, and Steve doesn’t seem to take offense. He shrugs.

“I don’t need extra strength or agility,” he admits. “But it does do something. It makes me feel more energized. More focused.”

“Huh.” Tony frowns. “Sorry to make you lie around and sleep after, then.”

“It’s fine.” Steve’s smile is soft, and he reaches out to brush a bit of Tony’s hair back. “I wasn’t sleeping, anyway. I was watching you.”

“Oh.” Tony feels his cheeks heat, turns his face into the pillow. He doesn’t quite want Steve to go, but he doesn’t know how to handle something like that, either. Fortunately, Steve doesn’t call him on it. 

“I’ll make you coffee,” he offers instead, and Tony mentally admits that this whole thing does have  _ some _ perks. Even if, coffee and all, after this he might sleep all the way through the morning. He doesn’t have to admit that to Steve.

~*~

Two days later, the whole team gathers for dinner, along with Jane and Darcy and even Pepper, who’s in town. Tony’s slightly wary, but Steve doesn’t give him any significant looks, doesn’t act solicitous towards him, doesn’t do anything out of the ordinary. It’s unexpected, though it shouldn’t be. Maybe, just maybe, Tony has trust issues. Tiny ones.

He sits next to Bruce, who only half-smiles at his jokes, as usual, but brushes his thigh with one hand when he’s not thinking about it. Natasha makes pointed, if veiled, comments at Bucky about his recent man-whorish tendencies, and he doesn’t stab her with his steak knife. Jane talks to Bruce about science, and Darcy tries to convince Clint to go to an upcoming punk rock concert. In other words, things are back to normal. Tony tries not to be too relieved.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “ _God_ , Bucky, you have no idea. He’s all sweet and soft and I just want to wrap him up and hide him away from the goddamned world, I swear,” Darcy groans, tugging at her hair and pacing around her Tower apartment. Bucky is sitting in her armchair, listening to this rant and looking _terribly_ amused.
> 
> “You know he’s never gonna let you do that, right?”
> 
> “I _know_!” she growls, pointing at him almost accusingly. “And _that_ is why this is so _hard_.”
> 
> \---
> 
> Following on from chapter seven, much of what was hinted at with relation to Steve/Darcy/Bucky can be found here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, just a really heartfelt thanks to all the commenters here. I have a lot of trouble finding time to engage with comments, but know that they always make me immensely happy, and motivate me to write and to bring you more stories. I know people enjoy the Darcy, so have some more! Just one more chapter till we wrap, and then I'm already six chapters into an intense Bucky-focused story that I'll start posting after this one's concluded. :-)

Darcy eyes Steve Rogers speculatively, then lets her gaze track around the living room of the apartment he shares with Barnes (who is currently otherwise occupied), landing on one of the sofas. It’s higher than a standard model, ideal for the long-legged residents who use it, but it also gives her an idea. She crooks a finger at him and then walks over to it, taking a seat and toeing off her shoes, then tucking her legs up in front of her. 

“Have a seat,” she invites, gesturing with one hand to the floor in front of her. He hesitates for just a moment, then lowers himself to his knees on the spot, facing her. It’s not a crazy assumption, given why he invited her over, what they’re planning to explore, but it does make her smile fondly. And it  _ is _ an assumption. “ _ Sit _ on that glorious ass of yours, Stars and Stripes, not kneel. And facing the other way, please.” He blushes and does as he’s told, shifting around until he’s leaning against the sofa, back to her, with his legs crossed in front of him. His shoulders are only a tetch high in this position—it’s still easy enough to swing each leg over one of them, her calves resting against his chest to give him a little bit of grounding weight. “There you are. Easy does it.” Her hands start at his head, fingernails scritching his scalp. His hair isn’t quite as fun to play with as Bucky’s, but he reacts so wonderfully to the attention, shoulders relaxing under the backs of her knees. She works in a rough pattern from front to back, and he calmly submits to the attention, though there’s still a touch of tension in his body.

“This is… not really what I expected,” Steve admits after a few minutes.

“What, did you expect me to just shove you up against a wall and start demanding things?” Darcy laughs lightly, tugging a bit at his hair. “That didn’t really seem like your style. It’s not really mine, either,” she adds thoughtfully. His head tips back onto the cushion so that it’s cradled between her thighs and he gives her a somewhat dubious look, Brooklyn drawl creeping into his voice.

“You sure about that?”

“Well with  _ sex _ , sure,” she laughs, letting him call her bluff. “But I’m not gonna take anything from anyone without feeling out what they have to give, first.” He seems satisfied with that response, and lifts his head again, relaxing into her hands. She works down, rubbing at the tight cords of his neck, and digging her fingernails in instead when her hands start to tire. His first moan is soft and quickly cut off, and  _ that  _ gives her something to work with.

“No,” Darcy warns, her lips at his ear, and he shivers. “Let me hear you.” She puts her teeth at the thin skin just behind his lobe and gradually applies pressure, working slowly until she earns a whimper out of him. His skin flushes pink, and she grins to herself, gently scratching over his collarbones and the base of his throat to see the thin lines of white she can create. “Attaboy. I wanna know when I’ve earned it.” He swallows hard, and she brushes the tips of her fingers over his Adam’s apple. “No rush,” she murmurs. “I’ve got all the time in the world for you.” She’s only a little surprised by how much she means it.

~*~

“ _ God _ , Bucky, you have no idea. He’s all sweet and soft and I just want to wrap him up and hide him away from the goddamned world, I swear,” Darcy groans, tugging at her hair and pacing around her Tower apartment. Bucky is sitting in her armchair, listening to this rant and looking  _ terribly _ amused.

“You know he’s never gonna let you do that, right?”

“I  _ know _ !” she growls, pointing at him almost accusingly. “And  _ that _ is why this is so  _ hard _ .”

“Just checking,” Bucky smirks. 

“How do you do it? I don’t want to be some sort of creepy caveman type… but I am  _ not _ going to enjoy the next time I have to watch him body-checking giant monsters and robots and shit on a livestream when I know for a fact there is a  _ cupcake _ inside that stupid red-white-and-blue Kevlar.”

“To be fair, I’m pretty sure you knew that before you took power from him.”

“Well,  _ sure _ , but I don’t do this exchange-y thing very much and I’m not actually trying to be a possessive asshole and I’m not going to  _ do  _ anything about it but  _ please _ let me rant a bit I think I’m having top-drop and I don’t know how to handle it,” she admits in a breathless burst that actually pulls her up short, because she hadn’t realized until she said it. Bucky’s smirk shifts into something more sympathetic, and he holds a hand out.

“C’mere, doll. I’ve got you.”

Darcy kind of wants to cry, but instead she walks over to him and lets him pull her into his lap and hug tight enough that she actually doesn’t feel like she’s gonna fall apart anymore. “He said he was okay,” she mumbles into his shoulder, mostly to reassure herself. “Meetings are important.”

“Not as important as making sure his girl’s all right the day after the first time he went down for her,” Bucky argues in an even, reasonable tone, nuzzling into her neck a bit. 

“I’m not his girl,” Darcy mutters in a bit of a huff, though the phrasing also brings blood to her cheeks. 

“Semantics. You’re hurting.”

“I was fine yesterday.” She’s pouting, she knows it, but that doesn’t mean she can  _ stop _ . His lips feel nice on her neck, and his hold is firm enough to feel real.

“Sometimes it doesn’t happen right away. You said you don’t do this much. Maybe you need to take care of him for a few days.”

“Not gonna ask that,” Darcy mutters.

“I bet he’d be thrilled.”

“ _ Why _ ? He’s got his own bottom-y types to take care of, Bucky.”

“Sure, but Sam can take care of himself, and I can take care of Clint, who doesn’t actually want to be  _ taken care of _ in the first place. And I’m closer to baseline than I’ve been in a long time. I don’t need him like that all the time.” 

“Okay,” she agrees. “But he still has to work.”

“Yeah. No reason you can’t be there when he gets home.”

Darcy scrunches up her nose. “Promise he won’t be mad? Cause honestly, roles reversed, I might be a little pissy to find him lurking in my kitchen a whole  _ day _ later.”

Bucky laughs. “You’re stubborn, Darce. So’s he, but not about this kind of thing. I swear.” He kisses her, and she grudgingly accepts it, even if she’s a little annoyed that for once, she can’t quite handle her own shit. 

~*~

Two days of doting on Steve later, and Darcy is back to her normal self, even if she’s  _ embarrassed as hell _ about it. Neither Steve or Bucky give her any shit though, and they all get an unexpected distraction in the form of Thor showing up on-world. For two days after  _ that _ , Jane totally ignores her research and doesn’t leave her apartment, but eventually she’s back to the labs and Thor’s banished to the common spaces, where Darcy finds him. Neither of the super soldiers, nor Clint, are around, and somehow they end up with Thor sitting on the floor, Darcy on the sofa, working a complicated braiding pattern into his hair and catching him up on the last few weeks of her life.

“I have no doubt that the Captain is a worthy partner for you,” Thor declares. “And although I am not familiar with his shield-brother Barnes, your judgement is impeccable.”

“See, this is why I like you,” Darcy laughs, pinning the end of a thin braid in place and then combing a section of hair into the start of another. “It’s not like we’re  _ dating _ , anyway. I mean, the two of them are, basically, but I guess we’re just… having fun.”

“And yet the Captain took you to dinner, and you have plans involving dancing. Is this not considered courting behavior on Midgard?”

“It can be,” Darcy admits. “But not always. I think it’s just… I trust them. Enough to actually share power with them, and that’s rare for me. So I don’t need to be their  _ girlfriend _ , I just want them to respect me in the morning.”

“Ah. I must admit, my counsel may be limited in this area. I only know of the etiquette of power exchange through my conversations with Midgardians. As I am given to understand, a relationship is not necessarily required for the act?”

“Right. It’s pretty normal to exchange with your friends or whatever. It doesn’t have to be a romantic thing, or a sexual thing, though I guess it’s easy to go there when you’re all… sparkly.”

“Sparkly?”

“Yeah,” Darcy laughs. “The sparklies, like, when you exchange power and everything kind of goes  _ zip _ ! It’s hard to describe if you haven’t done it before. It’s different with everyone.” 

“Hmm. Alas, I suppose you are correct. Though sometimes, with my Jane…”

~*~

They do keep their word and take her dancing.

Steve, true to  _ his _ word, doesn’t actually dance, but he fetches drinks and kisses her in between dances, and he watches them with a kind of hunger in his eyes that urges her to put on a good show. Bucky’s a talented dancer, and he teaches her actual steps and then leads her around the floor, pulling her close for the slow songs and spinning her wildly when the tempo picks up. They don’t stay late, though, and it’s not even eleven when they end up in her apartment. Before things can shift too much, she clears her throat and walks over to her dining table, picking up two copies of a three-page stapled document and handing one to each man. 

“Required reading. If you want to continue as we discussed.” Her tone is firm, and they both look a little confused, but less so when they read the header. Taking Power from Darcy Lewis: Rules, Limits, and Preferences. 

“You have… an operating manual?” Bucky asks, a little quirk of a smile on his lips as he glances up from the document. 

“It’s easier this way,” Darcy explains, making her way to the sofa and planting herself to one side with her legs crossed at the knee. “I’d like you to take care of things, and I don’t want to have to worry about explaining all the dos and don’ts in the middle… and also if this doesn’t work for you, I’d rather know now and cancel with no hard feelings.”

“Sensible.” Steve smiles and sits in her armchair, settling in to read, while Bucky chooses the spot next to her on the sofa. She tries not to tap her fingers nervously or hover over them while they take in the information, but she’s  _ nervous.  _ She really does  _ want  _ them to consent, to do this together. It’s silent apart from the low hum of the air conditioning, until Steve looks up with a furrowed brow.

“BJ?”

“Blow job,” Bucky absently explains, his eyes not rising from his paper. Steve turns bright red and he coughs.

“Right.” He returns to the page, but then Darcy can’t help but blurt something out into the silence.

“I know there’s a lot of sex stuff. That I can’t do.” She frowns. Normally she has no qualms being straightforward about her limits, but with them she feels  _ invested _ , which in turn leads to the worry that her sexual limits during this kind of play won’t work for them. “It’s not pure selfishness, it’s just…”

“Hey. Stop.” Bucky’s voice is gentle, but she still kind of wants to go hide in her bedroom. He reaches up and cups her jaw, thumb brushing over her skin. “There’s nothing selfish about asking for what you want. Or telling us what you don’t want.”

“Sure, but most of what I  _ don’t _ want is about your pleasure. And… I know I’m different when it’s just sex, and that probably doesn’t make very much sense.”

“It does,” Bucky counters, his voice low, and there’s something in his eyes that reminds her  _ right _ , he’s probably more than aware of all the nuances of consent and triggers and limitations. 

“You know,” Steve adds. “You can’t exchange if you don’t want to. All of this stops any time you’re not comfortable.”

“Of course I know that,” Darcy huffs a little, and Bucky drops his hand to his lap. “But that doesn’t mean the  _ sex _ stops, and it doesn’t mean it’s easy to say no when you’re already in a certain headspace. I… go down deep,” she admits. “And I don’t come up quickly. Like I said before, it’s vulnerable for me. Extremely vulnerable. I get something good out of it, so I still want to do it, but… it hasn’t always been great. Hence, I spell it out now.” She waves her hand in a gesture to the documents. “You can’t exchange if you don’t want to, but you  _ can  _ have sex with someone who doesn’t want to, especially if they’re already out of it and don’t know how to say no.”

It’s a harsh admission, and Steve goes tense as she’d expected him to, but Bucky is oddly, perfectly calm. There’s no fire in his eyes, and his hands are steady as he replies.

“Sure. If you want to lose an eyeball.” Darcy blinks at him and makes a mental note  _ never _ to let any exes’ names slip around him,  _ ever _ .

“Look. Some stuff happened, yes, and it sucks. So basically this can’t be about your dick, or I’ll freeze up, and I hate that about myself, but also I can’t change it, so that’s what we have to work with.” 

Bucky’s expression changes, softens from the deadly neutral calm to something sweeter, and he reaches out to cover her hand with his. “That’s too bad. ‘Cause I kinda love that about you.”

“I’m sorry, what?” She stares at him a little offended, but he quickly explains. 

“I love that your body responds to protect you,” he clarifies very gently. “Mine does that too, and it pisses me off sometimes, because I could hurt someone, but it… wasn’t better when I just… let them.” Something passes across his face, and just as quickly he obviously dismisses it, focusing on her again. “Defenses are good. They tell us what we need to know.” Darcy can practically  _ feel _ the emotions radiating off of Steve over her shoulder at Bucky’s confession, but she doesn’t turn, just offers Bucky a smile and turns her hand over to squeeze his.

“Thank you,” is all she says, and slowly they both turn back to their papers.

“All of this is fine with me, Darcy, but… there are a lot of acronyms,” Steve admits, and Darcy just laughs, leaning over the arm of the sofa to see where he’s looking. 

“Double penetration,” she spells out, pointing to the acronym on the page. “Consensual non-consent—that’s rape fantasies, basically. Clothed top, naked bottom.” Steve’s really red again, and Darcy can’t help but grin, but then she feels Bucky’s clever fingers stroking the back of her neck, nudging her hair aside.

“I notice that last one’s a yes,” he murmurs, all charm, tugging her zipper down just an inch. She slides back down to the cushion, turning as she does so, and his smile has promise. 

“Yes,” Darcy agrees, her own cheeks going warm now. “Did you finish your assigned reading, Mr. Barnes?”

“I did, Miss Lewis.” He grins. “Just one clarification. About the sexual limits—none of them are problems, but is it going to be uncomfortable for you if we… find things arousing?”

“Oh!” She laughs, because it’s a good point, and she hadn’t thought to spell it out when she typed the thing up ages ago. “No, no that’s fine. I’m not bothered if you’re hard, just as long as I’m not thinking that you’re going to put it in me.”

“All right.” Bucky smiles, just a touch wicked. “And just for total clarity… we’re planning to focus on you tonight, so it probably won’t come up, but how do you feel about it if I want to put it in  _ him _ ?”

“ _ Oh _ .” Darcy’s eyes go wide, imagining it. “Uh… yeah, that’s… that’s fine.”  _ So much more than fine _ . Bucky’s smirk tells her that her answer amuses him greatly, but she just ignores it, leaning in for a kiss. “So… are we good? You’re still interested?”

“So interested,” Steve murmurs low at her ear, bending over the arm of the sofa, and damn she didn’t even hear him get up. She shivers all over as his hands frame her waist, Bucky’s flesh fingers stroking her face again. 

“Very, very interested,” Bucky grins, fitting their mouths together again to kiss her deeper this time, Steve’s hands firmly squeezing and holding her in place. Not that she’s got anywhere to go, that’s for damn sure. Bucky kisses deep and dirty, and she’s all about it even if she doesn’t know exactly what they have in store for her. She gasps a bit when he hauls her into his lap, and then shifts his hands under her ass and stands in one smooth motion, lifting them both off the sofa. 

“Definitely too many clothes,” Steve declares, drawing her zip all the way down, and she moans a little into Bucky’s mouth when his lips trace the line of her spine.

“I’m only… wearing a dress and underwear,” Darcy points out, in between kisses, and Bucky chuckles against her mouth.

“Exactly. Too many clothes,” he agrees, shifting his hands one at a time to support her thighs  _ under  _ the dress, so that Steve can pull it off of her. That task accomplished, they start to move to the bedroom, Bucky still kissing her despite the need to navigate. She half-expects him to toss her onto the bed, but instead he climbs up onto it himself, one knee at a time, and then slowly lowers her in an impressive display of arm strength. Once he’s no longer supporting her weight, he shifts down to kiss her stomach, while Steve, Darcy realizes, is helping him out of his boots. 

“Nice teamwork,” she giggles, folding her hands behind her bed and enjoying the soft kisses and the scratch of Bucky’s stubble. 

“It’s kind of in our job description,” Steve jokes, tossing Bucky’s heavy boots to the side and toeing out of his own loafers before he crawls up onto the bed next to her, settling on his side. “You look amazing, Darcy.”

“Oh, hush,” she blushes, and he grins. 

“Don’t like compliments?” Steve teases. “Wasn’t on the limits list.” His fingers stroke over her sternum, down across the available flesh of her breasts, and over the lace of her bra. Her nipples draw tight at the attention, and she shivers.

“No,” she has to agree, and he laughs as he leans in to tug at her earlobe with his teeth. Bucky, in the meantime, has found a hipbone, and applied his mouth to the sensitive skin just beside it, his chin grazing her matching lace underwear. 

“He likes marks where nobody else can see,” Steve purrs in her ear, stroking across her ribs. “Does it feel good?”

“Yes.” Her voice is a little broken, thready, and she tries to cover the feeling of exposure by turning her head to the side, pressing her mouth against Steve’s. He kisses her slow, fingers finding the pins in her hair and sliding them out one at a time, tossing them somewhere. When he’s done, he threads his hand into her hair and  _ pulls _ , and she gasps open-mouthed, her hips trying to twist before Bucky holds them down. The first little shock of power leaves her body at that realization that she’s not going anywhere they don’t want her to be, the  _ control _ they have over her body registering as both dangerous and intoxicating. Bucky growls against her hip, latching on (though not too hard) with his teeth, and Steve kisses her harder, scooting closer to press the length of his body alongside hers. 

“Beautiful,” Bucky murmurs, inhaling deeply, and she blushes because she can  _ feel _ the seep of fluid between her thighs at the attention. 

“Good girl,” Steve adds, nibbling her lips. Sometimes she hates that phrase, but it’s Steve, with his deep voice and his trusting eyes and the fact that she topped  _ him _ less than a week ago gentling things to the point that she likes it, here. Bucky’s fingers hook into her panties, pulling them down, and she tries not to blush too hard as Steve gathers her into his arms, indeed fully clothed, and unclasps the hooks of her bra.

“I… your jeans are gonna get stained,” Darcy mumbles, overwhelmed again by an urge to hide, as he tugs at her ass and arranges her legs on either side of his thigh. Steve’s gaze just goes dark and greedy. 

“I hope so,” he murmurs, gripping her bare ass and squeezing. “That means I’m doing it right.” 

She gasps at the sudden feeling of Bucky’s fingers, a bit cold, grazing over as much of her pussy as he can reach like this, and then she realizes it’s the  _ metal _ fingers and she shivers all over. “ _ Bucky _ …”

“Yes, doll.” 

“Oh God.” 

They both laugh a little, his fingers still teasing at her, and she squirms a bit against Steve’s thigh, afraid her skin will never return to its normal color. Then she realizes, because she and Steve have fucked, and she and Bucky have  _ not _ … “Have you been sharing  _ notes _ ?” She tries to glare at Steve, but it doesn’t really have the intended impact, and he just grins.

“Yeah,” he confesses, obviously not a bit repentant. He kisses her, sucking on her lip a bit before he pulls back again. It’s hard to be mad, because she didn’t tell him not to, and also, Bucky keeps petting her just right, and the slight cold is weirdly arousing until it fades and she realizes it’s the heat of  _ her _ warming the metal, and that’s kind of arousing too. 

“How many times can you come?” Steve asks.

“Oh God. I don’t know. Two to four, depends on the night.” 

“It’s not a baseball score, Rogers,” Bucky teases from behind, biting into her ass cheek. 

“I’m not keeping score,” Steve argues, his smile full of warmth. “I just want to make Darcy feel good. I’m calibrating.” 

“Strategist,” Bucky mutters like an insult, sucking a bruise into the spot he just bit. Darcy has trouble keeping up, and tucks her mouth against Steve’s neck while they bicker. Bucky’s fingers are still light and steady, and she sinks into the sensations, trembling as he works at her. 

“What’s wrong with having a plan?”

“Nothing, except then you miss out on  _ improvising _ .” Bucky digs his thumb into the new mark, and Darcy yelps, grinds her clit into Steve’s thigh. 

“Sure, except I can do both.” Steve shifts one hand to a comforting hold at the back of her neck, and pets down her spine with the other. 

“Your idea of improvisation is jumping out of airplanes without a parachute,” Bucky points out, low and dry, and Darcy can’t help but laugh into Steve’s neck, even as she’s mostly not paying attention. At that, their focus suddenly shifts again, and Bucky tugs her up, onto her knees, leaning back against him with his arms bracketing her in place. “Having fun, doll?” he teases, brushing the metal hand over her vulva from the front this time. She shivers and nods. 

“Obviously.” 

“Mmm.  _ Obviously _ .” He brushes his fingers through the slick and she reddens, but then just kind of stares like her internal harddrive is broken as he feeds those fingers to Steve. Her mouth is opening and closing like a fish, and Steve’s just smirking at her as he licks the metal quite  _ thoroughly _ clean. “Pretty, isn’t he?” Bucky teases, rolling one of her nipples between his fingers.

“Uh… yeah.  _ Yeah _ .” 

“I have an idea. I think you’ll like my idea.” She nods dumbly, and he grabs her by the hair to guide her into another deep kiss, the tug at her scalp firing directly into her hindbrain as usual and letting more power leak across the connection. She doesn’t actually know how it works, with three, whether they’re both getting it, or one at a time, but she doesn’t have the mental capacity to ask, either. He’s shifting around, and then breaks the kiss, guiding her by the hold in her hair until she’s on her hands and knees, crawling up until her palms are on either side of his thighs, and he’s sitting back against the headboard. The maneuvering hits her  _ deep _ in the gut, in some very submissive place that she doesn’t let most people see, even if she  _ has _ agreed to exchange with them, but she trusts him, trusts both of them. He lifts a hand up, over her head so she can’t see, and must make some kind of gesture to Steve. The other man positions himself behind her and sits so that his thighs are on her feet and his legs hook around in front of her knees, calves resting over Bucky’s. In other words, though she’s in a relatively comfortable position, there are multiple reminders that she’s  _ not going anywhere _ . She bites her lip, stares up at Bucky, and then feels Steve’s fingers between her legs, stroking in the same way Bucky had just been. Her eyes naturally flutter shut, but Bucky doesn’t allow it, giving her hair a sharp tug.

“Eyes on me,” he orders, and she shivers at the heat in his gaze, the eye contact almost excruciating as Steve’s fingertips tickle at her labia, as she wonders whether Steve’s  _ looking _ . Bucky licks his lips, gives her a little smile. He seems relaxed, even though he’s hard in his slacks and she can see the way the fabric tugs. But he also doesn’t have her all the way up so that her face is in his crotch, and she appreciates that, the subtle reminder of her boundaries. He strokes her face with the metal hand, and she can still just barely smell the hint of her on his fingers. Again, her eyes flick down, and again, he tugs. “Do you feel exposed, babygirl?”

“Yes.” Her voice comes out hoarse, her cheeks warm.

“Do you like it?” She shudders, gaze locked with his, and then Steve  _ presses,  _ suddenly, a few quick rubbing motions against her clit, and she’s shocked into orgasm by the way the exchange pulses between them, her eyes wide open.

Bucky licks his lips again, slow, and doesn’t break eye contact as Steve brings her down. Despite the fact that he’d been arguing against scorecards earlier, he’s the one to say it with a voracious look in his eye and a smirk on his lips.  

“One.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Seriously… is everyone on this team fucking each other?”
> 
> Darcy shrugs. “Yep, that’s accurate, is there a problem?”
> 
> \-- 
> 
> Final chapter, Natasha POV. Also, Tony wants to know why no one notices that it's always Nazis.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Закончил! Thank you all for your awesome comments and support throughout this story. It means so much to me. I have a lot of social anxiety and also not a lot of understanding of AO3 tools, so I often read comments late and don't respond, but know that I read them and they mean a lot to me and I am very grateful for everyone who reads. This is the end of this story, but I'm going to start posting another (also multiship, Bucky-centric) soon!

Some days, living in Avengers Tower feels like being a minor character in a soap opera. But most of the time, Natasha’s too busy to pay attention to most of it, with her time divided between establishing new covers and new contacts on the one hand, and trying to keep an eye on all the chaos that is the re-building of SHIELD on the other hand. For the most part, she doesn’t have to bring the rest of the team into it. With the various agencies scattered and focused on rooting out HYDRA, no one complains when the Avengers independently respond to a threat, and otherwise they stay quiet. (Well, except for Stark, of course. Stark doesn’t know the meaning of the word “quiet.”)

Eventually, though, they get a summons she can’t just brush aside, and so the Avengers are packed into a small elevator on their way to a meeting at the ACTU’s New York office. Bruce is twitchy, Clint is wary, Stark doesn’t give a shit, and Steve is just Steve. “This organization… is not SHIELD, but is related to SHIELD?” She glances at Thor, standing to her right, and nods. 

“Think of them as SHIELD’s public face. It’s the easiest explanation.” The doors slide open and they’re met with a non-descript smiling face attached to a woman in a navy business suit with a laminated ID card pinned to her lapel.

“Avengers. Right this way, please. Agent Brandt and his team are already waiting for you.” 

“Just how I like it,” Stark mutters in the back of their little pack. They follow the woman to a conference room, where five men in suits are already seated, the one at the head of the table standing when they enter but not looking particularly impressed by them. 

“Romanoff. I’m glad your team could make it.”

“Not like you were offering us much of a choice,” she replies mildly as they file around the table and each take a seat. “Where’s Talbot?”

“Ukraine. He didn’t feel a need to be present for this meeting.”

“Charming.” Tony pushes his chair back, crossing his ankles on top of the conference table. He doesn’t remove his blue-tinted sunglasses, and pretty much every agent in the room looks offended. “Why do  _ we  _ need to be present for this meeting, again?”

“Mister Stark, the Avengers have been running without oversight since SHIELD’s fall from grace in DC. It is my understanding that the Avengers no longer report to SHIELD, even under new leadership, and eventually that fact will come to light publicly. We’ve allowed the status quo to operate thus far, but we can’t have your situation undermining our efforts with the Inhumans…”

“Right, because that’s going so well.” Clint gives Agent Brandt his most unimpressed look, and while Natasha’s less obvious, she has to agree.

“Oh, and it’s Doctor. Doctor Stark,” Tony adds. “Explain to me again why we’re supposed to trust your little outfit here? Cause y’know, last time we reported to a shady government agency, turned out they were half Nazis. Awk-waaard.” Natasha spots Steve hiding a smile behind his hand.

“The ACTU is not SHIELD,” another dark-suited agent responds, bristling. “We have a duty to the public, and…”

“...were also infiltrated by Nazis, not so long ago.” Stark gives the man his most BS press smile. “I did my homework. Did we all do our homework?”

“I was not aware there was homework,” Thor says earnestly, and Steve leans over to whisper in his ear while Natasha tries to get things back on track. 

“I agreed to this meeting because we want to cooperate. We’re willing to consider a reasonable proposal if you have details prepared to negotiate. But you need to meet us in the middle,” Natasha warns. “We’re willing to consider working  _ with _ you, not  _ for  _ you.”

“Is that wise?” Agent Brandt counters. “Your track record is good, so far, but the tides can turn so quickly.” He lifts a hand to his chin, rubbing at his jaw as if considering. “We have a duty to protect the public from dangerous persons, Agent Romanoff. Tell me… when  _ is _ the last time Doctor Banner had an incident?”

At that, the whole room reacts as one, and it doesn’t surprise her one bit. Even as she snaps to her feet, Stark goes still and sharp, Clint suddenly sits up straight in his seat, and Thor’s hand tightens on his hammer. Bruce shrinks in on himself a bit, but that’s to be expected.

“Nat, don’t…”

“We’re done here.” 

“Agent Romanoff, we haven’t even started. I’m simply asking you to consider the consequences. If the Hulk…”

“No,  _ you _ consider the consequences,” Natasha interrupts, taking three steps that put her right up in his face. He’s not a tall man, and while he stands firm, there’s a slight tremble in his hands. “I came here willing to play ball. You just blew that chance, and you should have known better.  _ No one _ has used Bruce Banner as leverage against this team and succeeded. You’re sure as hell not going to be the first.” She turns to go, and the rest of the Avengers rise and head to the door at her lead, but once Bruce is out in the hallway she stops and turns, meeting Brandt’s eye. “One more thing.  _ Try _ to come after Banner. Just try.”

Closest to her, Stark is just as steely, and a few of the anonymous agents are visibly terrified. 

Good.

~*~

After the meeting-that-wasn’t, Bruce disappears into his apartment and doesn’t re-emerge for hours. A few hours after dinner, Natasha takes the elevator to the penthouse and predictably finds Tony, standing by the windows, drinking. He didn’t try to keep her out, though, so she’ll take that as an invitation. She makes herself a vodka gimlet at his bar, just to give him time to collect himself, and when she joins him, he’s tense around the shoulders but only just.

“We should’ve seen that coming,” Tony murmurs, and she takes a sip from her martini glass, responds without apology.

“I did. Maybe not five minutes into negotiations, but I did.” She shrugs. “Sometimes we have to hope for the best anyway.”

“While preparing for the worst,” Tony smirks. “With at least fifteen contingent plans, Widow, knowing you.” 

She doesn’t deny it. 

“He’ll come to you when he’s ready.”

“I know that,” Tony growls, then knocks back the rest of his drink. His jaw is tight, but he doesn’t turn to look at her. “I went to Steve,” he says a few moments later, and it’s unexpected enough that she doesn’t initially catch his meaning. 

“For…?”   
  
“I asked him to put me down.” Tony’s tone is low and angry. “So you know, feel free to think less of me.”

“Fuck you.” Her tone bears no heat, but it’s cutting. He thinks their shared unusual abstinence is the only thing they have in common, but she’s never shared that opinion. She takes another long sip. 

Tony closes his eyes, leans his forehead against the glass. “What the fuck is wrong with me? Bruce needed a break from something I haven’t even  _ done _ for years and then I just... fell apart.”

“No,” Natasha disagrees, taking his glass from him and putting both glasses on an end table, hers still half full. “You’re human, Stark. You always were.” He looks like he wants to disagree with her, but lets her drag him down to the floor, into her arms, leaning against the back of the sofa. She doesn’t normally feel  _ tender _ towards Tony Stark, but she’s willing, at least, to give him this comfort. Slowly, slowly his body relaxes, and they stay like that until the sun comes up. 

~*~

 

“So I think I might be making headway on convincing Jane to move to New York,” Darcy shares, sitting across Clint’s lap with her legs over the arm of his chair so that she can face Natasha and Thor on the sofa. “Stark’s got the best equipment, and he’s willing to give her a private lab. And it’s not like  _ you _ care where she lives, you’ve got Frequent Thunderstorm Flyer miles and all.”

“No,” Thor agrees. “I do not presume to direct my lady Jane to a particular residence. Though I have enjoyed these weeks in your company, my friends.”

“Feeling’s mutual, bro. And I like New York. I like living in an actual city, and I like being around you people.” 

Natasha smirks at her, just a little. “But mostly a certain two of ‘us people.’”

“That’s not true,” Darcy pouts. “I like all of you! Just because they happen to be… you know… special friends.”

Clint guffaws, and Darcy elbows him. “ _ Special _ friends?”

“Sparkly friends?” Thor suggests, and Natasha turns to frown at him. She’s pretty sure Thor didn’t become a Brony overnight or something. But Darcy just laughs.

“Yeah, Thor, sparkly friends. Sparkly friends are not my only friends.”

“Bucky and Steve… sparkle?” Clint frowns. “What are they, vampires?”

“No, they give Darcy the sparklies!” Thor explains proudly.

“Orgasms?” Natasha guesses.

“No!” Darcy giggles, reaching over to gently shove at Natasha’s shoulder. “Like, the feeling you get when you exchange power. Thor, that’s not actually an  _ official _ term, it’s just my word for it.”

“Ah.” Thor frowns. “Yet, it is a good word. Midgard should adopt it!”

“Hear, hear,” Darcy grins. Natasha just shakes her head at the two of them.

“That sounds subjective. Thor, power exchange doesn’t always feel the same. It depends on the person,” Natasha clarifies, realizing that he wouldn’t know.

“Ah, that is a challenge in naming, then. What does it feel like for you?”

“Sort of… liquid,” Clint answers, although the question was directed at her. This is why she loves Clint, she thinks as he subtly redirects the conversation by explaining to Thor how liquid can be a feeling. Darcy notices, but to Natasha’s gratitude, doesn’t say a thing.

~*~

Several hours later, Natasha’s about to head to her room for the night when Darcy catches up to her by the elevators. “Hey, so… question for you.”

“Yes?”

“No… sparklies or anything,” Darcy snickers, “but I’ve got no plans for the night. Any interest in changing that?” Her smile is guileless, and she gives Natasha a quick little up-and-down look in case her meaning wasn’t clear. Had she tried a line, Natasha probably would’ve rejected her right off, but she’s refreshingly direct, and Natasha finds herself actually considering it. Still, she has to say it, with a little knowing curl of her lips.

“Seriously… is  _ everyone _ on this team fucking each other?”

Darcy shrugs. “Yep, that’s accurate, is there a problem?”

Natasha laughs. “I guess not. What exactly are you asking for,  _ malotka _ ?”

“Just a hookup. No strings. Like I said, no power exchange or anything. I don’t need to know how your whole thing works, I’m not asking.” Natasha’s expression doesn’t change, but it is something of a relief that Darcy’s not just  _ curious _ . “Besides, I’ve got a strap-on harness that’ll totally fit you.”

“Oh?” Natasha’s smile turns a little wicked, and she takes a step forward to crowd into Darcy’s space. Her thumb comes up to caress the corner of Darcy’s mouth, and the other woman shivers just a bit. “All right.” She reaches out for the elevator button with the other hand and leads Darcy in by the wrist, pushing her up against the wall and kissing her as they descend. She tastes a little like red wine, and doesn’t hesitate to kiss back, but she doesn’t try to fight the way Natasha’s pinned her, either. 

“Hey, do you do butt stuff? I could go for some butt stuff,” Darcy blurts out as the door opens onto her floor, and Natasha is caught uncharacteristically off guard for a moment. Well… if nothing else, this won’t be boring.

~*~

Darcy makes the prettiest sounds with one thumb inside her, gently coaxing her open at the rim. It’s not that Natasha doesn’t get regularly laid, when she feels like it, but it’s rarely so genuine. Sure, parts of her demeanor are lifted from her profession—even if Darcy’s not a mark, it’s hard to completely turn off—but 75% or so is just Natasha.

“Ready?” Natasha asks, petting along Darcy’s side with her free hand. 

“Plug me up, Scotty,” Darcy agrees with a giggle, and then a soft sound of pleasure as Natasha withdraws and brushes her fingers lightly over Darcy’s asshole. Natasha rolls her eyes, applies more lube, and gently eases the small bright purple plug inside. They’d negotiated—thrusting bad, external stimulation good—and selected the toy together, and now she pushes experimentally at the flared base, giving Darcy some extra pressure. 

“Oh, fuck, yeah, that’s good.” 

Wet work complete, Natasha crawls up the bed, continuing to rock her palm lightly against the plug, and swings a leg over Darcy’s thigh, bending down to kiss her. It’s a little messy, Darcy breaking form to let out little sounds at random intervals, but the pressure of Darcy’s thigh between her legs is satisfying, even if the empty harness ring digs into her pubic bone a little and her hand is jammed against her own thigh.

“Still good for phase two?” Natasha murmurs with a little smile against Darcy’s mouth. Darcy laughs and reaches down to squeeze her ass. 

“Aye aye, Agent. We have a fine selection of weapons available for you to choose from.” She gestures dramatically to the box on the floor that she’d tugged out from under the bed earlier to retrieve the plug. Indeed, there are a few different dildos to choose from, and Natasha just rolls her eyes, picks something medium girth and flesh toned. It has that fake skin material that gives a little though it’s hard underneath, and once she’s wrestled the base in behind the ring and tightened the straps again, she finds that she likes the jut of the thing adjacent to her body. While Natasha’s handling logistics, Darcy gets two fingers up inside her cunt, and Natasha just kneels up and watches her for a minute. She’s so open with her pleasure, and it’s refreshing, given Natasha’s line of work. Natasha grabs the base of her artificial dick and gives it a few idle strokes, the pressure at the bottom of the base grinding into her clit.

“How do you want it?” Natasha asks, her voice gone low, and Darcy eyes her greedily. 

“Like this,” Darcy says as she tugs one knee up, the other foot flat on the mattress, and draws her fingers out before sucking them clean. Natasha enjoys the visual as she crawls forward, lines herself up, and then slowly feeds her cock into Darcy’s body. “Ah, that’s good,” Darcy groans. “Slow, wanna...mmm… feel it, yeah.” 

Natasha smirks, hovering over her, both hands on the mattress now. “Do you feel it?” she asks rhetorically, rolling her hips to press more of it inside Darcy’s cunt and then draw back a little, gradually working her way in. “I’m not a sniper like Barnes,” she teases. “But…” 

Darcy gasps, hooks her leg up over Natasha’s shoulder and grabs her ass again. “Yeah, all right, you’re a smug little shit. But you’ve got good aim,” she concedes, a little short of breath. Natasha grins and bites Darcy’s calf. 

The stimulation isn’t direct, like this, for Natasha—to keep the angle Darcy likes she has to stay a couple of inches away from a full press of their bodies—but it’s an intriguing tease. She likes the little sounds Darcy makes and the way her fingers clench at Natasha’s rear. She pushes up intermittently for messy kisses, and then flops back down to her pillow as she starts to come. Just at the peak of her shouting, Natasha grinds all the way forward, joining their hips, and the pressure of her clit against Darcy’s perineum is a delicious reward. Darcy, too, grinds against Natasha’s pubic bone, even though she winces at the sensitivity. She still doesn’t say  _ stop _ , and so Natasha kisses deep and dirty, grinding rhythmically against her until they both come. She nips at Darcy’s collarbone and lets her leg down so they can take a break, then, at least, but doesn’t bother to pull out yet. Darcy’s hair is sweaty and matted against her forehead and she’s still radiantly beautiful.

~*~

Natasha’s never slept well in a bed with another person, which Darcy accepts without fuss when they’re done, sending her off with a lazy kiss. Her breathing evens out before Natasha’s even finished putting her clothes back on, and she can’t help but feel a bit fond towards the other woman, mess of a whirlwind though she may be. Natasha puts the toys by the bathroom sink and slips out, making her way to the common area to see if there’s still a tub of mint chocolate chip in the freezer. 

In fact, the mint chocolate chip is still there, but it’s not in the freezer. She narrows her eyes a bit at Barnes and he gives her a little smile around his spoon. “Did you want some of this?”

“Yes.” Natasha grabs another spoon and hops up on the island next to where he’s standing, digging into the half-empty tub. In fact, he’s done her a favor, as it’s starting to soften, melting just a bit around the edges. He looks her over, cocking his head to the side speculatively. 

“You got laid.”

“Uh huh.” It’s not really a secret. She takes another spoonful of ice cream and lets him try to guess.

“Sam?”

“No,” Natasha laughs. “Though that’s not a terrible deduction.” 

“Darcy.”

“Ti ponyal.”

Bucky smirks. “She does come recommended.” 

“Sure,” Natasha agrees. “With good reason.”

“If you don’t want to exchange, she might be your best bet in the Tower,” he adds. “Besides Clint or Tony, and I can’t imagine you’d be interested…”

“No,” she agrees. “Clint would be like fucking my brother, and Tony would be like fucking Tony.”

Bucky barks a laugh. “I think Steve’s still trying to figure you out,” he admits. “But quietly. He won’t say anything.”

“Good,” Natasha grunts. “He shouldn’t hurt himself.”

“He likes to understand things.” Bucky scrapes some of the melty bit from the side of the container. Natasha rolls her eyes.

“I don’t think he could. Being like me… to Rogers it’d be torture. He needs people.”

“And you don’t?”

“Not like that.” She points her spoon at him. “Neither do you, not really. You’d survive.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “But it’s nice, still. To let them think they’ve patched me up. Steve doesn’t want to sit with the fact that I’m broken, but he doesn’t have to.”

“No.” Natasha’s speculative for a moment, eating her ice cream in silence for a while. “I suppose… if you’re going to be broken anyway, it doesn’t hurt to live on an island of misfit toys where none of them bother to believe it.” She smiles and clinks her spoon gently against his. He leans against her and they share the rest of the carton.

**Author's Note:**

> Some more details on this universe, for those who would like them:
> 
> * Exchanging power temporarily makes the person receiving the power a little stronger, faster, mentally agile, etc. Think of it like a very small dose of super-soldier serum. The person giving power doesn't become weak, but they are likely to feel attachment, a desire to please, and other similar submissive feelings, especially if they give power to multiple folks.  
> * Power exchange has some lasting effects where the person giving power needs a kind of aftercare and the person taking power needs to be close to them and offer that. Otherwise, both sides can experience withdrawal effects. If power isn't exchanged again, then the effect of exchange will eventually wear off with time.  
> * Multiple relationships with power exchange are normal in this universe. They may or may not be sexual, romantic, or long-term. Someone might have them in one or both directions simultaneously. The term "alpha" refers to someone who tends to take power, often from multiple people and/or over an indefinite period of time. These folks tend to be especially nurturing and good care-takers, so the stereotype is slightly different from a dom in our world. Since power can't be taken non-consensually, jerks tend not to end up with a bunch of people giving them power, for the most part. The term "submissive" can refer to someone who's actively giving power to someone else, or to someone who does so frequently or over a period of time.
> 
> Feel free to raise any questions you have in the comments!


End file.
